Two Minutes
by TotallyLosingIt
Summary: "A lot can happen in two minutes." A massive earthquake strikes the Palm Woods. Separated and injured, can the boys make it out alive?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yeah, I wrote this after a plot bunny bit me and demanded to see a claustrophobic Carlos, and then expanded when I felt that it wouldn't be fair, leaving the rest of the guys out of it. Shocking, right?**

**Disclaimer: *sorts through contracts* Lesse. Hardy Boys, NCIS: LA, all things Justin Bartha… nope, BTR ain't in here.**

**Enjoy!**

…

_ "Carlos, where are you going?"_

_ Carlos turned to see Logan jogging up to him, holding half of the pizza in his hand and pushing his sunglasses further up his face. _

_ "To grab my helmet," he said, grinning. "James bet me that I couldn't jump from Jo's balcony into the pool, so I'm gonna prove him wrong."_

_ Logan looked vaguely worried. "I'd better come with you, then, in case you need first aid."_

_ "Aren't we all certified in CPR?" Carlos pointed out, raising an eyebrow at his friend as he shouldered his way into the elevator next to him._

_ Logan shrugged. "I don't think James would go anywhere near your mouth, Kendall's doing something with Katie at the moment, and I highly doubt you'd be doing chest compressions to yourself." He shook his head. "But I was joking—you'll be fine. I just have to grab something from the apartment."_

_ "Why didn't you just say so?" Carlos laughed as the doors closed._

…

A lot can happen in two minutes.

Carlos pried his eyes open, feeling crusty from the inside out. There was the dimmest light shining onto him overhead, but it wasn't bright enough to be the sun. Opening his eyes made his head throb, so Carlos opted to shut them again and just lay there, resting.

As he lay he became aware of three things. For one, he wasn't in his room, on his bed. The floor beneath him was rock hard but the material was coarse and unsmooth, like school carpet that was there solely for decoration and not for comfort. He couldn't think of anywhere else that might have carpet like that save for school. But he also remembered that school had been out for the last week and a half, so there was no way he could be there.

The second thing was that his body ached. Carlos could suddenly feel the back of his head pulsing with his heartbeat, smashing wave after wave of pain into his skull. There was something off about his right shoulder, too—it felt distant and numb, but throbbed like his head did. The more aware he was of the pain, the more it seemed to hurt. Carlos' eyebrows screwed together as his face twisted, trying to ward off the pain.

Breathing echoed back to his ears, alerting Carlos to the third thing. There was someone else in here with him. His eyes flew open again, barely flinching this time as the light drilled into his retinas. Despite the dim glow, he still could barely make out the outline of a body lying next to him. Carlos started to sit up, but as soon as his right hand pressed down on the carpet to put himself up his shoulder went haywire.

Carlos hissed and released the pressure, lying back down. Grinding his teeth to cut off a whimper, he tried to remember what had happened. He pulled up nothing. It was a blank. Carlos stared up at the ceiling—it was tiled with giant squares that fit into the tiny room. It really was a tiny room, too, barely the size of a walk-in closet and maybe even smaller than that. Carlos followed the corners of the room to the large silver doors on his left, as well as the panel of buttons that blinked on and off.

The elevator…?

With a _snap, _it all came rushing back. The tremors that built up, the shaking, the power flickering, _dropping, _how he and Logan had screamed…

"Logan," he croaked out. He was surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. Clearing it, he tried to nudge Logan's still form next to him, ignoring the painful twinge in his shoulder. "Logan?"

No answer. He was out cold. Carlos felt his heart speed up, making his head hurt even worse. He was vaguely aware of blood trickling down his cheek from a wound over his hairline. Remembering how the elevator jerked suddenly to a stop and threw him against the railing on the side of the elevator, Carlos gingerly touched his forehead. It was still wet, still bleeding.

_Head wounds bleed a lot. _He could practically hear Logan's voice in his ear, a memory from a long time ago after he'd been smashed into the boards playing a nasty hockey team. So, was it a good thing that there seemed to be a lot of blood caked into his hair? Carlos didn't want to think about that. He wanted to ask Logan.

First things first. Carlos pushed himself up on his good elbow, hissing slightly at the pain it caused. He took a few deep breaths, closed his eyes, and shoved as hard as he could off of his palm. The momentum tilted him back so he could rest, sitting against the wall beneath the railing. Carlos could see Logan's face now, his slack mouth slightly parted and eyes closed. His head was bleeding, too, but the gash was at the back of his head. How did that happen? Logan was lying face-down now—where had he hit the back of his head?

It was then Carlos noticed the other railing on the wall across from him, sprawled out on Logan's back. It was the same one Carlos had accidentally loosened by jumping up and down on this same elevator too many times. He was amazed that Buddha Bob hadn't fixed it by now, even if he never told anyone it was broken.

Guilt instantly flooded into him. Logan could have brain damage or a concussion, all because he had too much fun jumping up and down on the elevator.

"Logie," he couldn't help but whimper, watching his friend breathe. He wanted him to wake up and tell him what to do. The lights on the button panel kept flickering into his eyes at irregular intervals, and it was driving him crazy. The more he looked at the room, the harder it was to breathe. Why was it _so small? _Why didn't it have vents or something so he could breathe easier?

Carlos started to panic. He'd never felt this freaked out in elevators before, but the walls seemed to be getting closer and closer the more he looked at them. How much air did they have in here, anyways? Wasn't there some way to find out by measuring the dimensions of the room and dividing it by—

"No," he said out loud, without meaning to. No math would help. He just knew that they must've been out for a while. Who knew how much air they had in here?

Carlos sighed out loud and tilted his head back, accidentally smacking it against the low railing and sending stars spinning in front of his eyes. As his vision swam back in focus, he spied one a compartment on the panel that was slightly bent, open. The picture on the front of the silver box was faded, but Carlos could still make out the blue color and shape of a telephone.

His heart leapt into his throat. If he could just make it over there, he could call for help! Carlos started to sit up straighter, but he'd forgotten about his shoulder. Straightening up had jarred it against the railing, and this time the pain flared so hard that Carlos was practically knocked over again, breathing heavy. This was nothing. He played hockey with cracked ribs and still managed to win the game before passing out—he could definitely make it over to the phone to call for help.

Carlos eyed the distance. The panel was diagonally across from him, to the right of the elevator doors. And Logan was in front of him, so he'd have to climb over him. Reaching up with his good arm, Carlos pulled on the railing. His chest tightened, and his shoulder practically screamed in protest, but Carlos managed to climb to his feet. He leaned against the railing and the wall. Standing up, the room seemed to get even smaller. The tightness in his chest got worse, but Carlos shook it off. He stepped gingerly over Logan, careful not to touch him in case he was more injured than he could see, and stumbled over to the panel. It was low, and Carlos knew that if he sat down he might be forced to get up again. But it would be worth it.

Dropping to his knees, Carlos used his good arm to pry open the panel the rest of the way. He found the phone and picked it off of its cradle. There were no buttons to dial, so he assumed it automatically called one an emergency office or something. That thought spurred another crazy one as he imagined bright blue electricity sailing across lines of wires, bringing his words to someone on the other end.

It took him a second to realize that there was nothing happening in the phone. There was no dial tone, let alone voices asking him if he were okay, like he expected them to do. Carlos frowned and lifted the phone, watching as the connecting line went completely slack. He pulled the wire out of its socket until he got to the alarmingly frayed ends. It wasn't connected.

Carlos dropped his head into his hands. No one knew they were trapped in here. What now? Logan was unconscious and Carlos could feel the walls closing in even more. His head pounded as the adrenaline wore off, leaving him feeling like he'd been hit with a wrecking ball.

"Somebody help," he whispered as blackness took hold.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews/favorites/alerts! They seriously made my day! \o/ You guys are awesome, lol. **

**Enjoy!**

_"This is the worst "miss you" gesture I've ever seen," Katie commented as she watched Kendall attempt to fit the twelfth flower into the basket._

_ "I think it's romantic," he told her matter-of-factly. "And Jo will think so too. I mean, they probably don't even have roses in New Zealand. Think of how grateful she'll feel!"_

_ "Think of how irritated the delivery men will feel when they read the "fragile" sign on the box," Katie corrected. "I don't think they'll be as considerate with the shipping as you're hoping they will. And I thought you called me up here because you wanted my help."_

_ "I do," Kendall needled, reaching across the table to grab the pen. "I need you to go to the kitchen and make the brownie mix so we can pack them."_

_ Katie rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless," she said, turning around on her heel._

_ Kendall gave her a sweet smile. "Thank you, baby sister!"_

…

A lot can happen in two minutes.

Pain. That's what Kendall was aware of first. There was intense pressure right on his chest, making it almost impossible to breathe. His head pounded. Every time he took a breath a wave of pain would smash itself into his temples, demanding to make itself known. He let out a groan, but even that seemed to hurt, vibrating his chest and setting off even more pain signals.

"…dall? Kendall?"

The voice was incessant and wouldn't let up. Kendall wanted to shout for it to go away—it was too high pitched and he didn't want to talk right now. He wanted to drift to sleep, but the pain in his chest grew to the point where it became unbearable.

Pressure against his chest, too much for him to handle. Kendall gasped out, a strangled yell ripping itself from his throat, his eyes flying open. There was nothing but dusty whiteness. Kendall let his eyes close again, smacking his head back onto the floor.

"Oh, God, Kendall, I'm sorry," the voice exclaimed, sounding strained.

"Katie?" he said—or he tried to. It came out sounding more like a garbled grunt than anything else.

"Kendall, yeah, I'm here. You're going to be alright, Kendall, you're going to be fine." Her voice cracked each time she said his name. Kendall felt fear creeping into him. Katie wasn't scared of anything._ Do I really look that bad?_

His eyes slipped open. This time instead of a foggy white blur, he could see Katie's face peering at him from above. Kendall blinked, shocked. Three or four cuts on her cheeks and forehead were still bleeding, and she had a large bruise that spread from her chin to her jaw. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were wide, terrified, and her clothes looked ragged and dirty.

Kendall started to sit up. "Katie, what happened to—" He broke off with another gasp of pain, this time shooting up so harshly that lights flashed like photographers in front of his eyes, blinding him and sending pain to his temples. With a groan Kendall plopped himself back down again, realizing that he was probably a lot worse off than his sister.

He looked down at his chest, wondering why it felt so heavy. At first he didn't understand what he was seeing: a slab of gray cement—or plaster, or ceiling, or whatever it was called—lying on his stomach like a horribly thick, heavy, hard-as-a-rock blanket. Dust covered the rest of his torso, and as he moved his head some fell out of his hair, too. There was blood—a lot of blood. The cuts on his face and arms and one spot on his chest felt fiery hot, like he was lying with a hot laptop on his chest. From the torso down it was numb save for violent pins and needles that were fading quickly from his previous attempt at movement.

As Kendall met Katie's eyes again he realized that it really was bad.

Katie was grinding her teeth together hard, her eyes darting from the slab on Kendall's chest to his face. Kendall tried to take a breath, coughed on the dust, and gasped in pain as the coughing sent spasms through his body.

"Katie," he managed to get out. "You… okay?"

Her eyes widened, if they could any more than they already had. "Am _I _okay? Kendall, you're—" She flinched violently, not saying it. "I'm fine," she said softly. "Don't you remember?"

Kendall shook his head slowly. Katie dropped her head, like she didn't want to say another word, but she lifted it again.

"You pushed me out of the way," she whispered. "I… _God, _Kendall, why would you…?"

Kendall honestly didn't remember doing something so heroic, but he hated how Katie's eyes looked like they were shimmering with tears. Katie was a tough kid, but she was still eleven, and she was still his baby sister.

"S'okay," he murmured, reaching up with the arm that seemed most free to touch Katie's forehead. "I'll be fine, Katie." The words seemed to jumble themselves together and barely sounded like words at all to Kendall's ears, but Katie nodded in understanding.

"How…" She swallowed hard. "How do we get out of here?"

Kendall had to lift his head slightly to survey their surroundings. They were halfway between the kitchen and the dining room. Dust and plaster had caked everything in a dull gray color, but he could see the door had been blocked off by another slab of ceiling or whatever it was. It was pressed right up against the door, preventing anyone from opening it and escaping.

Katie caught his gaze and said quietly, "I tried to move it already. It's too heavy."

Kendall managed to nod slowly. He looked at the window and saw that it had been blocked as well by the couch. The couch seemed to be wedged between the wall and the window, but even without it blocking it, it was still a three story drop with nothing to drop onto.

They were trapped.

Sighing, Kendall lay his head back down and closed his eyes.

"Kendall?" Katie sounded panicked. "Come on, Kendall, please don't pass out. I can't… you have to… _please, _Kendall!"

"I'm okay," Kendall said, opening his eyes tiredly.

Katie's voice broke. "Don't do that again," she said, going for stern. "You need to stay awake. Logan says that when you're knocked out you need to stay awake and be sure you don't have a concussion."

"Logan," Kendall said. "Where..." Why was it _so hard _to breathe? "Where are the guys? Were they…"

"I don't know," Katie admitted. "I don't know where anyone is. I looked out the window, though—it's bad, Kendall. Most of the buildings have collapsed. It's like Haiti or Japan or Chile or any of those other places with massive earthquakes. I thought I saw a balcony break off and drop into the pool. How are we ever going to rebuild after this?"

Kendall looked at Katie. He'd gotten only about half of that, but the brunt of it hit him hard. They were in serious trouble. And his sister needed him.

Sirens made their way to his ears, and Kendall looked back towards the window. He was too low to see anything, but Katie caught onto what he was thinking.

"I'll be right back," she said quietly—whether to reassure him or herself, he didn't know.

He watched her make her way over broken pieces of furniture. It alarmed him that she didn't have any shoes on, and he could see her feet bleeding as she stepped onto pieces of broken glass and clay. She didn't seem to notice, making it deftly to the window and peering out of the crack that showed from behind the couch.

"They aren't for us," she reported, a note of frustration in her voice. "They're headed downtown."

"Don't worry," Kendall told her, grasping her hand with his free one. "If it was an earthquake, they'll get to us soon."

Katie didn't look convinced. Kendall knew that even though Los Angeles had a lot of resources, there were still thousands of homes, let alone buildings and hotels, to get to where people might need help, too. He didn't know who the priority would be in this situation. He just knew that they would be stretched thin. It could be hours, even days before they were rescued.

His little sister had to know that, but she trusted in Kendall enough not to say anything about it. Kendall was grateful for it. His position was probably scaring her to death, and he needed to be strong for her.

Katie knelt behind him and placed his head in her lap. Kendall didn't mention how much moving hurt to her, knowing she was just trying to help.

"Mom's gonna freak," Katie muttered.

Kendall managed to chuckle slightly before the pain hit him hard. "She'll insist we all wear helmets like Carlos," he joked between pants.

Katie shook her head. "No way. I get the worse helmet hair in the world. Maybe Carlos and James can pull it off—"

"What 'bout me?" Kendall huffed, pretending to be insulted.

Katie laughed. "It runs in the family, Kendall. You don't look too good in a helmet, either."

They smiled at each other, but the laughing cost him. Kendall definitely couldn't breathe now. His breaths came in wheezing gasps, but each time he breathed his ribs seemed to crackle, sending fire spurting through his veins. Kendall ground his teeth together, nearly biting his tongue, and tried not to scream like he wanted to.

"Kendall?" Katie's voice was fading, but he could still hear the panic in her voice. "Kendall! No! Wake up!"

"I'm not asleep," Kendall tried to tell her. But another wave of pain rolled over him, and then the darkness overtook him.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sooo... did everybody see the trailer for the new movie? Do I care about how they're in London? Nope. Do I care about how I get to see Carlos in a suit and tie? Nop- well, yeah, okay, definitely yeah. But do I care that there seems to be the TINIEST, SLIGHTEST, TEENIEST promise of whump (or as much as Nickelodeon can get with whump)? HELL TO THE YES.**

**Hey, I'm Lost, and I'm a dorky fangirl.**

**Enjoy!**

**...**

_James looked up as Camille leaned over the railing of her balcony. "Why is everybody getting out of the pool?" she called._

_ He grinned up at her. "'Cause I bet Carlos he couldn't make it to the pool if he jumped off of Jo's old balcony. We don't want bodily harm—Logan would kill us."_

_ Camille shook her head. "He's going to get himself killed on day."_

_ "No kidding." James frowned as he looked at her. "Uh… why are you in a wedding gown?"_

_ "Like it?" she curtsied low. "I'm about to go tryout for "The Princess Bride 4." My audition's in an hour."_

_ James frowned. "Then why are you ready now?"_

_ "Duh." Camille twirled a curl in her hair. "I'm getting into character with the balcony scene."_

Right, _James thought. Character. Camille had enough of that for the whole cast._

…

A lot can happen in two minutes.

James was jolted awake. He could hear faint screams and the odd lap of water against metal. As he peered up at the sky—oddly blue and peaceful looking after what had just happened—James could see the balcony crumbling right from the building, heading towards the pool. Camille's breathless scream, how he went to help her and…

And something had knocked him out. James sat up gingerly, feeling for injuries. There was a violent bruise right smack in the middle of his forehead. He cringed, thinking about how that would leave a mark.

Wait. He came the rest of the way up and stared, horrified, at the pool. Camille's balcony was lodged into it, half out of the water and half submerged. The top had broken off and leaned heavily against the edge, teetering dangerously. Through the crack, James could see Camille's tell-tale curly dark hair floating in the water.

All conscious thought left him. Going off of pure instinct, James scrambled to his feet and slipped out of his torn jacket and shoes. The crack was just barely big enough for him to wriggle into it without touching the sides. If he were careful. He didn't even stop to think about how he would get Camille out of the crack.

James walked to the crack, peering inside of it. Camille's eyes were closed but he head rested against the corner of the pool, keeping her head elevated. He couldn't see if she was still breathing or not, but she had to be, right?

"Camille," he called, and cringed again at how horrible his voice sounded. Clearing it, he called again, "Camille!"

No answer. James didn't wait another second. He perched on the tile and slipped through the crack feet first. The water was freezing, as usual—he should've expected that. James caught his breath sharply as he slid the rest of the way in. Camille was in the deep end, which was almost six feet. James could barely touch the bottom, and when he did the water went over his head. It was alarmingly dark inside the pocket the balcony had made against the corner of the pool. It was barely big enough for the two of them to fit together, and the edge of the balcony seemed to teeter on its short edge further against the corner of the pool. James didn't think much of it as he reached out to steady himself, grasping the ledge as he made his way to Camille.

That was his first mistake.

Camille started to wake just in time, her eyes flashing open and to James' hand pressing against the side of the balcony's soaked carpet.

"James, no!" she screamed.

Startled, James let go. With a groan, the balcony teetered towards his head. It sunk even further beneath the pool, touching the tiled floor and slipping until the crack narrowed even further. James lunged towards Camille and pressed her against the corner of the pool, placing his hands on either side of her and ducking his head.

The balcony tilted towards them and hit the side of the pool with a soft _thunk. _The other side, which had already been leaning against the adjacent corner, slid further down until it was touching James' back. The light shut out completely.

After a few seconds all was still again, save for the violently lapping water and James and Camille's heaving breathing.

"You okay?" James asked finally, his voice echoing weirdly over the water.

Camille nodded slowly. "Could you…?"

"Oh." James backed away from her as much as he could. The wall was now diagonal to his back, leaving them with only about a space of eight square feet. Not a lot at all. The balcony itself was rested completely on its short side, fitting into the tiny space between the corner of the pool and the other edges. James had no idea how it all fit in here, but it did.

The crack that had been there was now a sliver of light above his head, way too small for him or Camille to wriggle through.

"Hold on a second," he said to Camille. Taking a deep breath, he ducked beneath the surface and went to investigate any other way out.

The left side didn't have a crack at all except for the tiniest space that James could fit his hand through. The right side, however, looked a little more promising: the space between the balcony and the pool's wall was a foot wide, maybe a foot and a half.

James came back up for air, wiping his face, while Camille shot him a worried look. "You were down there for a long time," she fretted.

"Singers have good lungs," he informed her. "Anyways, there's a crack at the bottom. I'll see if I can fit into it, okay? Be right back."

She went as if to protest but James had already slipped back down. Straining his eyes against the chlorine, he swam back down to the crack. It looked thinner than he remembered. James closed his eyes briefly, before using a hand to try to pull himself through the space.

As soon as his shoulders reached the crack, they lodged. James grunted, a crowd of bubbles spurting from his mouth and flurrying around his face as they struggled to find the surface. Forward or back? If he could get his shoulders through, he'd be home free. James struggled in the water, lungs burning, to pull himself through the crack, but the more he moved the tighter he seemed to snag.

_Okay, bad idea, _James thought, shifting directions. He tried to lift his arms to wriggle back out of the hole, but his shoulders were lodged in too tight. After a few seconds of struggling, James began to panic. His lungs ached, his eyes burned, and he had to finally admit to himself: he was stuck.

How long had he been down here? A minute, maybe more. The average adult human could hold their breath for two minutes. James didn't know how long he could hold his breath. He struggled harder.

Just as his lungs were about to burst, James felt a hand grasp the back of his shirt. He let out a startled gasp—the rest of his air—just as Camille yanked him from of the crack. Breaking the surface, James sucked in huge breaths and felt Camille pound a hand into his back. He never thought that he could love breathing so much. That's one thing he would never take for granted again.

"Are you okay?" Camille yelled in his ear over his coughing.

James simply nodded, too spent to use words. He sent her a grateful smile and caught his breath. "I'm too big," he said finally. "You want to try?"

Camille looked uneasily at the crag she'd just pulled James from. "Be right back," she said.

As she went to take a breath, James gently grabbed her shoulder. "Don't try if you don't think you can do it," he warned.

She nodded in response, her eyes dead serious for once. James gave her a reassuring smile and watched as she slipped below the water. He kept his eyes on the spot she'd disappeared, not wanting to miss any signs of distress that she might've needed his help, but the light that streamed in came from the tiniest crack above his head that he could barely see his own hands as he gripped his shoulders, chilled.

Camille came up a second later, looking exhausted. "It's my dress," she explained after catching her breath. "I tried ripping it off, but it's really hard to rip cloth when it's wet."

"Can't you, like…" James gestured towards her helplessly, not wanting to say it.

She gave him a dry look. "What? Strip? I would, but I have on a corset." At James' confused look she elaborated, _"Really _tight fitting bras for women in the Mid Ages."

"Oh." James flushed at her vocabulary, not knowing how to respond. After a second he continued awkwardly, "So I guess… we're stuck here."

"Guess so." Camille rubbed at her arms. "Of all days…"

James knew what she was talking about. It was crazy how a freak accident like an earthquake could combine with the freak coincidences that put them in this position: the fact that Camille was wearing a medieval wedding dress and corset, the fact that the balcony—which should've been strong enough to hold—crumbled when the earthquake struck, the fact that James had to do nothing but shift the balcony a little bit to trap them in the pool, where they could possibly drown.

"Crazy," he said, almost to himself. "So… now what?"

"We need to figure out a way out of here," Camille sighed, looking up towards their new "ceiling" as it slanted diagonally over their head. "And find the others."

James caught on immediately. "Carlos would probably be in the elevator," he said, widening his eyes. "Or at least in the lobby. What do elevators do in earthquakes? God, if I'd just gone with him—"

"Life isn't about regrets, James," Camille scolded. "It was an earthquake. A huge one at that. It doesn't matter where you are in California, you'd still be in danger."

James didn't know what to say to that. He looked at Camille and she glared back. Bizarre how she could be so adamant about something like that in a situation like this.

"Okay," he said, determination making his voice a little stronger. "You're right. Carlos wouldn't want me in here worrying like a girl. Err—no offense."

Her eyes rolled. "None taken."

James studied the balcony for any place to brace his feet without being forced to submerge. "Let's see what we can do about this."


	4. Chapter 4

_"What the hell is that?"_

_ Jake Osworth stared at the screen on his computer, seismic waves stirring from beneath the earth's crust. Each wave pulsed large and larger, pressure building like rippling in the waves. As far as he could tell it was coming from off the coast of California, somewhere between San Francisco and Los Angeles. And it was growing._

_ "Oh, my God," Angie breathed next to him. She obviously recognized the signs, too, as the other leading seismologist on this expedition. They weren't expecting to find anything, but this quake was pulsing and growing. Any second now it would pass the mark into physical chaos._

_ "We have to warn them," Jake said, lunging for the phone. Just as his fingers touched it, the ground began to shake._

_ He fell to the floor and looked up at Angie. Her eyes said everything._

_ It was way too late._

…

Logan was wincing before he even opened his eyes. He had a headache the size of Mt. Everest. A pitiful groan escaped his lips as he pushed himself up on his hands and knees, holding the back of his head and willing for it to stop throbbing. What had hit him? He could feel dried blood sticking to his hair, and that thought alarmed him. So did the smell, like metallic water—telling him that either he had bled more than he thought he did, or—

"Carlos," he realized, opening his eyes fully. His vision went haywire, blacking out around the edges even though he sat frozen, knowing he was still conscious. Eventually the darkness faded, leaving his reeling with a massive headache. He wanted to suddenly lie on the floor and just slip into blissful sleep. In fact, he was about to do just that when he heard a tiny noise off to his right.

"Carlos?" Logan held his head and pushed himself into a sitting position, turning to look at his friend. Through his blurred vision he could see the Latino boy slumped against the wall of the elevator they were in, eyes closed but teeth grit in pain.

Right. Logan remembered, slightly. He remembered falling in the elevator and something smashing into the back of his head. But he didn't remember much else.

First things first. Logan started to stand and fell back as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He understood now—he had a concussion. He didn't know how bad, though. Sleep was now out of the question.

How bad was Carlos? Logan decided to keep to crawling on his hands and knees and crossed the short distance to his friend.

"Carlos," he said softly, although it came out more like a slur. Clearing his throat he called again, "Carlos." He reached out to shake his friend's shoulder.

As soon as Logan's hand came into contact with Carlos' shoulder, the Latino boy's back arched sharply as a hoarse scream of pain echoed into the small compartment. Logan jerked away as if he'd been burned, terrified of hurting him as he watched tears prickle in the corners of Carlos' tightly squeezed eyes. Then the moment was over and Carlos slumped back again, limp and unconscious.

Logan took a shaky breath. He felt horrible for not seeing before, even in the dim light, how Carlos' shoulder jutted out from its socket. It was dislocated. Logan knew how to pop it back in, but he couldn't shake the scream he'd let out when he touched the shoulder. It seemed to echo in his brain. He didn't want to go anywhere near his shoulder again.

"Sorry, buddy," he whispered. Carlos didn't answer. Logan really didn't want him to. He crawled back to Carlos and eased one hand on his back and the other on his shoulder.

Carlos whimpered slightly even at the feather-light touch Logan was giving him. Logan took a deep breath and popped it back in.

This time when Carlos screamed in pain, his eyes flew wide open and he threw his head back so hard he smacked it against the wall—which, Logan just now noticed, was missing a railing.

"God," Carlos whimpered as a hand came to clutch at his shoulder. "Oh, _ow, _owie, man, that _hurt."_

"I'm sorry," Logan apologized. "I'm sorry. Your shoulder was dislocated, I had to fix it. I'm sorry."

Carlos seemed to register that it was Logan's voice talking, and his wide eyes fixed on him. "Logan!" he cried, joyous. Before Logan could react, he was enveloped in a staggering hug.

"I see I did it right, then," Logan said dryly, nodding at Carlos' shoulder.

"Yep," Carlos said, forgetting how bleak their situation was. "It feels much better now. I can probably lift weights with this thing." He flexed whatever nonexistent muscles he had, pulling a "macho" face.

Logan rolled his eyes and then winced at how much that action hurt. "Yeah, well, I don't advise using it for any strenuous activity. I'm not a professional doctor and I don't know if I did it right, so we're going to have to wait until you can go to the hospital."

At his words, Carlos seemed to realized that they weren't in the hospital. His face fell, recognizing the tiny elevator, their new prison.

"You okay?" Logan asked warily.

Carlos' breathing had sped up. He sounded like he was having a panic attack. But that was psychological—way out of Logan's league. "Dude, calm down," he grunted, trying to reach for Carlos' wrist as the Latino boy stood.

"No," Carlos said, hugging himself tightly. He sank to the floor in the corner opposite of Logan, rubbing his arms and drawing his knees to his chest. "It's so small in here," he whimpered. "Logie, I can't _move."_

"Yes you can," Logan said calmly.

Carlos didn't seem to hear him. His eyes darted from one wall to the next and his breathing got worse. Logan started to worry, recognizing the raw discomfort in Carlos' eyes. He was claustrophobic. It made sense, too—Carlos had so much energy that he was constantly moving, tapping, dancing, running, jumping. Staying still was hard for him. Being forced to stay still, in a space as small as an elevator, must be killing him.

Logan had no idea how to treat this.

"Logan," Carlos called, drawing his attention back to him. His eyes were screwed shut, but he was facing in Logan's direction.

"Yeah?"

"Can we run out of air in here?" As if to emphasize his point, Carlos' ragged breathing grew louder.

Logan shook his head, and then remembered that his friend couldn't see him with his eyes closed like that. "No," he said. "There are ventilation shafts in elevators that allow air to keep circulating in. We could be in here for days and we won't suffocate."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Carlos' eyes popped open and said, "We're going to be in here for _days?" _

"No, that's not what—"

"What about James and Kendall?" Carlos demanded. "They'll be wondering where we are! And we can't call for help because the phone line's cut and I don't have a cell phone because I was going in the pool and Kendall and Katie were up in their apartment doing something or whatever and we're in _here _trapped in an elevator!"

"Carlos!" Logan shouted. The rise of volume cost him harder pounding in his head, but he managed to catch the Latino boy's attention. "We'll be fine," he insisted. "I'm sure the others are fine, too. Just stay here and try to breathe normally, alright?"

The expression on Carlos' face said plainly that he hated being in the elevator. Logan doubted that he would ever go into an elevator again after they got out of this.

Silence reigned in the elevator as Carlos' breathing slowly calmed down. His eyes were still closed, like he was imagining himself somewhere else. But he wasn't freaking out as much.

Logan, on the other hand, felt like throwing up. The room spun, even as he sat in this stable position. Was the elevator rocking? Why did it feel like it was?

"Logie?"

He looked up to see Carlos staring at him. He looked concerned. "You okay?"

"Concussion," Logan managed to grind out. "I'll be fine."

Guilt flashed over the Latino boy's face, although Logan couldn't imagine why. Clearing his throat, he said, "Are _you _okay?"

"I'm fine," Carlos said, shrugging out of habit. He winced when he jolted his shoulder, sealing Logan's conviction that he definitely wasn't _fine. _

"You hit your head," he noted as he spotted the blood on Carlos' brow. That must've been where the rest of the blood came from.

Carlos turned his face away childishly, like he could deny it. But the dim glow of the elevator's lights caught the red in his dark hair. Logan narrowed his eyes. "Concussion?"

"I don't think so," Carlos said immediately. He would know, too. Despite how much he wore his helmet, Carlos had the most concussions out of the four of them. The question was whether he'd admit he had one now to Logan.

Knowing Carlos, he was probably lying.

Logan frowned at him, wishing there was something he could do. But there was no way to treat a concussion that he had here in the elevator. All he could do was make sure Carlos didn't fall asleep—and make sure he didn't sleep, either.

The silence stretched, obviously making Carlos uncomfortable. He started to breathe heavier again, eyes darting between the walls before squeezing shut. Logan felt helpless to save Carlos from the discomfort of not being able to move around like he wanted to. Logan, personally, didn't have any qualms about enclosed spaces. But he had to admit, he wanted out of here just as much as Carlos did. If only to find out if his friends were safe.

As if reading his mind, Carlos whispered, "What do you think happened to the others?"

Logan racked his brain for a response that wouldn't scare his friend, but nothing came. The silence was enough.

He had no idea.


	5. Chapter 5

**Kay, gotta say first: I cannot BELIEVE how many people like this! Thanks so much you guys! It seriously touches me that you all seem to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. So thanks to ALL of you who reviewed and favorited. You have made my month. **

**I'm sorry for the wait on this one. This chapter was unbelievably uncooperative. *shakes fist***

**Enjoy!**

…

"_Oh, move it already!" Jennifer Knight shouted at the cars in front of her. She sighed heavily and planted her forehead on the steering wheel. The traffic was backed up so much she could probably get out and walk back to the Palm Woods. "This is ridiculous."_

_She was about to take out her phone and call Kendall to tell him she would be late for dinner when the ground began to shake. Jennifer grasped the steering wheel watching in horror as the tremors grew more violent, rocking the cars in front of her before reaching her own car. She was thrown in her seat, the seatbelt catching her and bruising her collarbone painfully._

_Earthquake? Here? The tremors continued to shake her car, but Jennifer only had one thought: what happened at the Palm Woods?_

…

Katie had never been more scared in her life. She tugged on Kendall's free arm again, but her brother didn't move. His face had gone freakishly pale, almost ashen. The only way she could be sure he was alive was by his ragged breathing, and even then that wasn't reassuring. It sounded rattled and unnatural, uneven and dangerous.

Miraculously, she wasn't hurt. When Kendall had pushed her out of the way of the falling chunk of ceiling she'd hit her head against the wall, but she'd been otherwise unfazed. Stupid, _stupid _move. But that was Kendall, always doing stupid, protective things.

With nothing better to do, Katie stood on shaky legs and tried again to reach the door. The ceiling piece wasn't too big, but it was leaning right on the door, covering the wood and even parts of the wall next to it. Overhead was the fourth floor. Dust flew about in the room overhead and she could see the fourth floor's ceiling, which seemed more or less intact. She didn't think anyone had been in the room above them, because no one was talking or screaming in pain. But that didn't say much, considering neither was Kendall.

Katie ran a hand along the side of the slab, feeling the jagged edges dig into her skin. Parts of the plaster crumbled in her hand. She ground her teeth together. Why couldn't the rest of it do that? Maybe if she got something to ram it into the center of the slab of ceiling, she could break it apart and get help that way. Looking around the room, she spotted the lamp on the side table where the couch used to be. It was heavy-looking. Hopefully heavy enough to smash its way through a ceiling slab.

Getting over there was another thing. Katie winced, reaching down to rub her bleeding feet absentmindedly. Aside from the broken furniture and glass littered all over the floor, there were parts of the carpet that was just carpet—no structural floor to keep it up. She discovered that when she accidentally stepped on a spot where there was no floor, almost dropping onto the second story if she hadn't caught herself at the last minute.

Katie looked at Kendall and listened to his rattled breathing. If it meant getting him help, Katie would do anything. She closed her eyes briefly and then opened them again, eyes fixed on her prize.

She carefully stepped in the places she knew to be safe, having tested them already. Her heels stung, but she ignored it. She stopped at the couch wedged against the window and turned, spotting the lamp a few feet away lying discarded on the ground. The shade had been ripped off, but she didn't need that. She needed the base.

Katie bit her lip and gingerly took a step forward. She tested the floor. It held. Sighing in relief, she moved her feet to that spot and repeated the process. In seconds, she was next to the lamp. Picking it up, Katie confirmed that its weight should work against the ceiling plaster. Maybe.

She was on her way back when the floor opened up and she dropped like a rock. Katie screamed, flailing as she let go of the lamp. White closed around her vision, blinding her and blanketing her in a world of opaque whiteness. Her scream cut off as she choked and coughed on the dust and plaster particles flying through the air.

The drop was over before she realized it. She hit the ground hard on her shoulder, and then dropped another foot as she rolled off of the table she had landed on. Pain and disorientation dominated her consciousness for a good thirty seconds before her sudden bout of vertigo ended. Finally feeling like she knew which way was up and which way was down, Katie climbed slowly to her feet, clutching at her head.

"Oh, my gosh," she whispered as she looked back up the hole in amazement. How was she not seriously injured? Other than the cuts that started bleeding again from the fall, Katie was shaken but unhurt. She looked around the new room she was in, not recognizing it. What was more, it was uninhabited and looked relatively intact.

Her eyes fell on the door. "Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed. Katie carefully stepped her way to the door, unlocking it and flinging the door open. The hallway was in shambles, pictures strewn from the walls and dust and white plaster covering the carpeted floor.

She was closer to the stairs than the elevator, although it didn't really matter since using an elevator now would probably be a very bad idea. Katie placed a hand on the wall to guide her and made her way one step at a time to the door of the staircase. Small fires burned from fallen wall lamps, but she moved around them and finally made it to the door. Finally made it down the stairs. Finally made it out of the lobby.

Katie stopped and stared at the destruction before her.

…

Kendall woke slowly this time. Awareness came faster—mostly because of the pain on his chest. Shifting ever so slightly to prop himself on his elbows send spurts of fire in the form of pins and needled through his limbs. Kendall gasped and let his body go limp again, not ready to move.

This was going to drive him crazy, not being able to move from this position. His head was lying on something uncomfortable, too, but each time he turned his head a new wave of pain washed over him. How long was he going to have to stay here? Because if it were days before he was rescued, he would go insane.

His green eyes fixed on the ceiling, noting the giant gaping hole above his head. That must have been where the slab on his chest came from. He could see the light bulbs from the story's ceiling above him flickering on and off. That was going to drive him crazy, too. Kendall suddenly felt restless, an extreme desire to just _move _and get _out of here _overtaking his will. Panic gripped him and he started to thrash around from under the slab of ceiling, jolting pain through his body and ignoring it. He strained to push the ceiling off of his chest, screaming as if that would make it better. Tears of frustration leaked from his eyes, but he wiped them quickly with his torn sleeve and stopped pushing on the slab.

Pain hit him after he'd given up. Kendall clenched his teeth together and growled through them. The edges of his vision darkened suddenly like a sideline hit into the boards. He almost blacked out again, but Kendall shook his head slightly and took a breath. The breath was shallow, but it worked. The pain throbbed and then faded until it was a dull ache throughout his body.

Kendall opened his eyes tiredly. No way was he doing that again. At least now his left arm was free, so he now had two free hands to… to do what? Play rock, paper, scissors with Katie?

_Katie._

Kendall suddenly realized that it was strangely quiet. Where was his sister? He tried to look around but moving in any way threatened to send him into spiraling unconsciousness again.

"Katie," he called. His voice was hoarse from screaming, but the word got out just the same. "Katie?"

No answer.

Kendall felt panic rising up in his chest again and swallowed it down. He couldn't see the door, but maybe she found a way out?

Or maybe she was more hurt than she'd let on and was now lying unconscious on the floor.

"Katie!" Kendall smacked his head against the floor in frustration, wishing he weren't stuck here under this slab, wishing he knew where his sister was and if she was okay, wishing that this earthquake had never happened and that everything would be back to normal. Kendall bit his lip hard and, for the first time in a long time, closed his eyes to pray.


	6. Chapter 6

"_What was that?"_

_Aaron looked up from his position under his desk, the response all rescue workers are trained to do in an earthquake. He came out shakily and looked around at the office—papers strewn from their desks, shattered glass sprayed all over the floor, and destruction as far as he could see. _

"_Earthquake," he breathed. _

_His co-workers froze, staring at him even though the answer was all around them. _

"_People!" their director announced from his office. Eyes turned towards him and he redirected their gaze to the window. "We've got lives to save! Come on, stop gawking, get out there!"_

_The phones started ringing immediately, as if on cue, spurring Aaron and his team into action._

…

"Is it bad?"

Camille rolled her eyes at James. He looked ridiculous with his eyes squeezed shut, stuck in a grimace with his shoulders hunched up as much as he could treading in the tiny space they were confined to.

"Oh yeah," she said, nodding. "You'll need to wash it twenty thousand times before it gets back to usual lustrous glow."

James moaned and clutched at his hair—soaked through with water, dust, and chlorine. "I don't even want to know what condition my Cuda products are in."

"Probably not." Camille reached over her shoulder to grasp at the tight knots that held her corset in place. "Ow," she groaned, giving up and rubbing her shoulder. "James, you try."

James still looked upset about his hair, but he reached forward and tried to untie the knot. "Jeez, Camille—what were you, a boy scout? These knots are crazy."

"It's a bow, James," Camille corrected. "But it's double-knotted. And I think the water is making it harder for the strings to slide through each other."

"You don't say." James fiddled with the thin, string version of a bow for another few seconds before growling in frustration. "Did you have to make them so tight?"

"I'm auditioning, James!" Camille said, turning in the water to glare at him. "It has to be authentic! You have to get into the role to get the role, get me?"

"Yeah, whatever," James sighed. He was starting to tire as he treaded the water, dipping slightly to bounce his toes on the pool's slick tile floor. It was starting to get seriously chilly in the water, too. Usually he'd be getting out by now and slipping into the hot tub to warm up. But that wasn't exactly an option in this position.

"Okay," Camille said aloud, thinking hard. "Maybe if I can rip the bottom half of the dress—"

"Camille, just leave it, okay?" James didn't mean for his voice to come out so harshly, but he was tired, irate, and stuck with a crazy, overdramatic actress in a really tight corset in a tiny room while he was half-drowning and treading water to stay alive.

The brunette whirled on him, her hair flinging water in his eyes. "I'm trying to get us out of here," she snapped. "Isn't that what you want, James? To escape from this tiny cramped space so we don't _drown? _So you can go back to having flawless hair and moisturized skin?"

James winced at her caustic tone. "I'm just saying, we're going to be here a while. You might want to save your breath."

Camille glared at him, but an involuntary shudder from the cold dampened the effect. She let out a frustrated huff and came to tread next to him. James was taller than she was, so she had to work harder at keeping herself afloat.

"I wish this space were bigger," she muttered. "I can't float on my back. There's not enough room."

"Here," James offered, steering her by the shoulders until her head rested on his right shoulder. Camille let her chest and legs drift up so she was floating as James braced his back against the corner of the pool.

It was slightly awkward. James knew that the girl floating in front of him was his best friend's on again, off again girlfriend. And that they'd kissed once. Of course, it didn't mean anything—especially when it put the friendship between him and Logan in serious jeopardy. But it was still a kiss. And it was still her.

James was painfully aware that he'd never had a serious relationship with anyone before. He was the _face _of the band and always had been. He'd always been the first to date, and the first to break up. He'd never thought much of it until Kendall and Jo had hooked up. And then Logan and Camille. If Carlos weren't so rash about girls, James would have been surprised if he managed to snag a steady girlfriend before James did.

Thinking about it made him depressed. James was relieved when Camille suddenly said, "What do you think happened to the guys?"

Her voice was quiet, and James could almost hear the words she wanted to say. "I'm sure Logan's fine," he said confidently.

Camille shivered, eliciting a shiver from him as well. "I know that," she said. "But, you know. Carlos was in the elevator."

"He might've been," James corrected. He didn't want to think about it. All he could imagine was the elevator cables snapping and sending his friend plunging to his death. How did elevators work in earthquakes, anyways?

"And what about Kendall and Katie?" Camille continued. "They were inside. I read this article once about how getting under desks and tables at school during an earthquake can kill you instead of protect you. 'Course, the theory got disproved, or whatever, but still. It can't be safe indoors during an earthquake."

"I don't think it's safe anywhere during an earthquake," James said. It wasn't a joke, but it fell flat anyways.

"And Logan."

She didn't say anything else, and James didn't offer anything either. He didn't even know where Logan was when the earthquake hit. Maybe he was safe and sound, freaking out about them being trapped here in the earthquake like they were doing. Or maybe he'd been crushed by furniture, or bludgeoned by a falling piece of metal, or trapped in a small crack like them. Or dead.

He could definitely be dead.

Despite how much James tried to avoid that thought, it kept coming back around to haunt him. Logan could be dead. Carlos and Kendall and Katie could be dead. Even Mrs. Knight, Gustavo, and Kelly could be dead.

He didn't want anybody to be dead, ever.

Camille sniffed, although James suspected it might've been from the chilly water—Camille never cried. Not for real, at least.

"You know," she said, voice sounding oddly tight, "I was going to try to make up with him tonight. Again."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Camille chuckled, but it wasn't really that funny. "I just… He drives me so crazy. Always have. And, you know, I never stopped. I think I actually love him." She pulled away from James and turned to look at him. "Ever been in love?"

James shifted awkwardly. He really didn't know how to answer that. "Um…"

Apparently that was all she needed, because she turned around and swam to the other side of the crack. "I've just never had a boyfriend before Logan, you know? It would figure that our relationship is so freaking complicated. I can't just be a normal girl for once, can I?"

"Well, to be fair," James offered, "if you were a normal girl you wouldn't even be here. So it's probably a good thing you're so unique and different."

Camille turned to flash James a genuine smile. "You know, that was pretty sweet of you, James."

"It was?" James grinned as he recalled the words that had just come out of his mouth. "Uh, thanks. I think."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm going to go crazy if I don't get out of here." Reaching up, she tried to shove against the balcony. James wasn't surprised when it didn't budge an inch.

"It's wedged," he said, pointing down at the dark water. "Stuck, pretty much."

"We have to get out of here!" she insisted, distressed. Camille smacked the balcony and water dripped from the spot her wet hand came into contact with.

"Camille," James sighed. "Calm down." She ignored him and continued to pound and shove against the immobile object. _"Camille."_

"_No!" _Her screamed echoed over the water and James winced, watching as she shoved up on the balcony one last time.

Much to their surprise, it shifted.

Camille froze, not daring to breathe. She watched with James as the balcony shifted again. A voice drifted through the tiny crack at the top.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?"

"_Katie!" _they screamed at the same time.

"Katie!" James took over. "Katie, it's us! James and Camille! We're trapped in here!"

There was a thud against the balcony, but it didn't move again. "It's too heavy," Katie said, voice closer now. "I think it's, like, stuck or something. How did you even get in there?"

"I was on my balcony—"

"Doesn't matter," James interrupted. "I have an idea. Katie, if you could push the top of the balcony enough, I can use my legs to push from down here. We don't need it all the way, just enough to get Camille out."

"What?" Camille whirled on him, looking stricken. "I'm not just going to _leave _you here—"

"Camille," James growled through his clenched teeth, "don't worry about it. I'll be fine. Maybe you can even help Katie push it more so I can get out, okay? Just go."

"You better be right behind me," she said threateningly.

James nodded. "Go down by the crack and wait until it's wide enough for you to slip through." He looked up at the top of their cranny. "You get that, Katie?"

"Yeah." Katie sounded worried. "James…"

"Yeah, I know." James felt along the side of the pool for where it would be the best place to push. "On three. One, two, _go."_

Camille took a deep breath and ducked underwater as James braced his back against the side of the pool and his feet on the slanted balcony. He extended his legs and was surprised at how hard it was to move. Then he realized that he was pushing it _down—_he needed to push it _up. _Shifting positions, James shoved along with Katie. Elation filled him when the balcony creaked and finally lifted up, so much so that James could even see Katie's face as she strained to push the balcony.

Katie looked over and her face lit up. "James! She's out, James!"

Really? James grinned, but then his hold slipped and he plunged into the water. Resurfacing, he wiped his bangs out of his eyes and peered up. Sure enough, the balcony had thumped back into place.

"James? James!" Both girls were calling his name now.

"I'm fine!" he yelled up to them. "But there's no way I'm getting out of here. Just, go get some help! I'll be fine till they get here."

"Katie's going to get some help," Camille said through the crack. "Don't worry, James, we'll get you out of there."

"Who's worried?" James finally felt hope rising in his chest. Maybe, hopefully, they might make it out of this after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: For future reference, I was trapped in an elevator for two hours when I was six, so I'm basing the mechanics of elevators by my experience. However, that elevator was in a skyscraper instead of a hotel/apartment building, so events might be different there than mine was in the skyscraper. Also, I wasn't a sixteen year old boy with claustrophobia. :P**

**And whoas, guys, this chapter is long. Sorry it took so long, lol. It was being difficult. *glares at chapter***

**Enjoy!**

…

"I spy with my little eye—"

"The elevator buttons."

Carlos frowned at Logan. "I didn't even say it yet."

"Is that it?"

"Well, yeah." Carlos crossed his arms. "But that's not the point of the game."

Logan rolled his head around his neck and blinked blearily. "Carlos. I'm bored."

Carlos sighed. Logan must've had a concussion. He'd been repeating that phrase for who knew how long and he didn't seem to realize it. "I know, Logan."

"I mean, seriously bored."

"I know, Logan."

The only thing keeping Carlos from hyperventilating—because that's all he wanted to do every time he opened his eyes and found himself back in this tiny, cramped elevator—was Logan's loopy-ness. It was as entertaining as it was terrifying. Carlos knew it was like his duty to keep Logan awake, otherwise bad things would happen. So he played rock, paper, scissors, I Spy, and Would You Rather to try to succeed in preventing Logan from falling asleep.

It would be fun if it weren't so scary.

And so boring.

Carlos stood up and stretched. His arm felt amazingly better, with nothing more than a slight painful twinge every time he jostled it. Logan really should be a doctor—he definitely knew his stuff.

"Carlos?"

"Yeah, Logan?"

"I'm bored."

As if on cue, the elevator light winked out. In the same instant Carlos felt his stomach drop—and then he realized that it wasn't just his stomach dropping. The whole elevator car was plunging downward. He was thrown to the floor, smashing his head again against something hard. The drop stopped as suddenly as it came and forced him to roll, crashing into Logan—or at least, he thought it was Logan.

Carlos lay against his friend for a long time, eyes squeezed shut. The floor buzzed and shook at irregular intervals. He lifted his head finally and opened his eyes, trying to pick out Logan in the darkness.

"Logan?" he whispered.

His friend didn't answer. Carlos could feel panic rising inside of him and had to work to clamp it down. He felt around in the small space and came across Logan's arm. Next to it was something hard and smooth—upon further inspection, he realized that it was Logan's phone. The battery was partially jammed, and Carlos had to work to put it back in place. As it did, the screen lit up with the Verizon start-up logo. Carlos squinted against the sudden light as it stabbed into the darkness.

He turned it towards Logan's face and noticed that his eyes were closed. His breathing was unsteady and hitched at times. Was that a bad thing? Carlos didn't think it could be very good.

"Aw, Logie," he sighed, drawing his knees to his chest. He honestly didn't know what to do. The start-up ended and flashed to Logan's front picture. There were no bars of service in here. Was that just because they were in an elevator, or did the cell towers get knocked down? Was the latter even possible?

_Creeeeeak._

What was that? Carlos' head shot up and he looked around frantically for the odd creaking noise. It sounded metallic, but the only thing metal besides the railing was the door.

_Creeeeeeeeeeeak._

Carlos stared at the sliding metal doors. What…? Then, without warning, both doors seemed to pop, letting out a hiss as the air escaped through the new cracks, and fell towards Carlos.

He let out a short cry of terror, scooting backwards until his back pressed against the wall, and his legs came up to block the doors from caving in on him. The metal rested against his feet, surprisingly lighter than he thought they were going to be.

But now he was trapped. What would happen if he moved out from under here? Would the doors fall and crush him? Carlos looked over and saw that Logan's arm and legs were both in the path of the doors. If they fell, Carlos wouldn't be able to get to Logan in time to protect him.

Carlos wouldn't help the whimper escape him as he hugged his knees to his chest. Now he really couldn't move. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he tried to brace himself, and move into a more comfortable position. No good. Any shift and the door inched forward.

"This _sucks!" _Carlos shouted, hitting his head back against the wall. Frustration bubbled up inside of him. He hated being stuck here. He hated not moving. He hated that he couldn't do anything to help Logan, or that Logan couldn't do anything to help here. Despite his friend's claim that they had plenty of air, Carlos' breathing hitched. Panic mode set in. Without Logan to look after, the claustrophobia was inching in again.

He pushed himself up on his hands, straining against the doors. Carlos shoved against the wall with his back—irrational, maybe. He wanted to get out. Thrashing seemed like the best way to accomplish that, except it wasn't doing anything to help him. After a few seconds Carlos came to that realization and slumped against the wall, exhausted. His chest felt tight, like something was lying on it. And he couldn't breathe.

It took Carlos a second to notice that the doors were no longer braced against his feet. He frowned and looked up at them, spotting how they leaned against the wall over his head without the support of him keeping them up.

Carlos suddenly felt stupid. Duh. He cautiously got out from under the tilted doors and peered into the crack that the doors made. This was the elevator shaft? It was pitch black—he couldn't see if the wall was yards in front of him or inches. He felt like if he spoke, the words would be swallowed by the darkness and no one would ever hear him.

He tried it out. "Hello?"

The sound felt muffled. That was probably just his mind playing tricks on him, but he couldn't help but feel strangely suffocated.

Carlos turned and reached blindly for Logan's cell phone. He'd dropped it on the floor when the doors caved in, but finding it proved easier than he thought it would be. With the press of a key the room lit up in the pale blue glow from the screen. Carlos directed it towards the elevator shaft.

The bright beam of light basked the shaft in shades of blue. Carlos saw the wall extending five feet from the car—close enough to touch it if he reached. And there was a metal bar jutting from the wall that was thick enough to stand on.

These bars seemed to be all over the elevator shaft, Carlos realized. They never crossed the path of the elevator car, but they crossed the shaft multiple times like a giant, pitch black jungle gym. Maybe if he and Logan climbed them, they could make it out of the shaft.

Even as the excitement rose at the idea of escape, Carlos felt dread creep in as well. Logan was still unconscious for one thing, and Carlos didn't think he was strong enough to pull him up with him. And even then, they'd have to climb with no safety net and no security cables to catch them. Carlos could probably do it if he had a lot of time and a lot of light. But there was nothing but the cell phone to help him.

Carlos drew his head back in to look at Logan. There was no response from him, and Carlos was scared that the last bump on the head made his concussion even worse. What if he never woke up? He could be comatose right now. He could be dying.

He looked back out at the shaft, and then at Logan's slack face. He could stay and try to wake Logan, but his concussion wouldn't help with him climbing through the shaft. But if he escaped from the shaft, he might be able to find help. But he'd also have to do it alone.

Carlos let out a shaky breath, hating this decision.

"I'll be right back, Logie." He whispered the promise to his unconscious friend. Then he placed the cell phone between his teeth and carefully climbed over the doors.

_This isn't so bad, _he thought, trying to squelch the terror that suddenly sent butterflies fluttering through his stomach. _Right. Just don't look down. _Easy.

Carlos took a deep breath and shone the cell phone at the bar across from the door. Before he could change his mind, he shoved off against the sides and jumped.

He hit the wall hard and almost fell, but the ridges in the wall helped him hold on. Balancing unsteadily, Carlos wavered for a second before motion came to rest and he finally stopped wobbling. Okay, step one complete. He took the cell phone out of his mouth and shone the light above him. Perfect—the next story was only a few feet above his head. All he had to do was somehow jump high enough to reach the bar suspended across the shaft, climb onto it, and then figure out a way to open the magnetized doors without falling to his death.

Right. Easy.

Carlos grasped the ridge on the side of the ledge he'd jumped onto and slowly, carefully maneuvered himself until his back was touching the wall instead of his stomach. He guesstimated the distance between him and the bar. Then he looked down into the suffocating blackness below him.

"Here goes everything," he said aloud. Carlos could almost see the words blinking out of existence as soon as he spoke them.

He closed his eyes tightly. Then, with one last look, he jumped.

His hands hit the bar, amazingly, but he hadn't accounted for the cell phone in his hand. His left hand caught the bar and his whole body jerked, pain shooting up his shoulder as he swung from one hand. The sudden sweat on his fingers almost made him let go, but Carlos reached up and wrapped his elbow around the bar. He closed his eyes for a second, and then pulled himself up until he was straddling the metal bar. Carlos was suddenly happy that hockey gave him good upper body strength. Or at least, he thought it did.

Whatever. He was one step closer to his goal. Carlos shined his makeshift flashlight on the door below him. He could touch it with his fingers, but that wasn't saying much. He reached over and brushed his fingers against the crack between the doors. Much to his surprise, they parted a little. Elated, Carlos leaned over—almost falling off of the beam—and tugged hard on the newly widened crack.

The doors slid open. They were still magnetized. Awesome! The doors opened, revealing the bright red carpet of the Palm Woods hallway. Carlos had never been more happy to see it. Light flooded into the shaft, illuminating things he hadn't noticed before with the weak glow of Logan's cell phone: the multiple bars, the cables, the ridges and ledges that poked out from the doors. Carlos looked back at the elevator car he just climbed out of.

The cables looked tangled with each other, sparking at the top where the pulleys resided. Terror made his stomach drop. Logan was still in there! Should he go back? He looked back at the open door and the enticing hallway. If he could get there, he could help Logan—he was sure of it.

Carlos slipped the cell phone between his teeth again, his mouth suddenly dry. He grasped the bar with both hands and lowered himself so that he was hanging from it. Then he used his legs to kick back and forth, back and forth, building up momentum. When he feet swung so hard they almost touched the top of the door to the hallway, he let go.

Impact. Carlos tried to tuck and roll, but he'd never been good at that. He hit the ground hard with his knees, and the rest of him followed, rolling until he hit the opposite wall. He lay there, dazed, until his shoulder started to scream at him. In the adrenaline he'd barely noticed that climbing through the shaft had strained his previously-dislocated shoulder, and the rough landing was the last straw.

"Ow," he gasped quietly, reaching up to touch the shoulder gingerly. Great. It was probably dislocated again.

But that didn't matter. Carlos' eyes widened as he leapt to his feet. He made it! Now all he had to do was get to a phone and call the police. His eyes fell on the stairs.

He was so relieved he could've cried.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I apologize for this chapter format being weird. :P I wanted to change it up a little bit and this was the only way I could do it! **

**SO! WHO SAW BIG TIME MOVIE? Was it NOT awesome? NO! IT WAS EPIC! And now I have plot bunnies bugging (HEHEHEHE BUGGING) me to write a spy fic/movie tag/sequel of sorts to the movie. Would you object to that? I HONESTLY WOULDN'T.**

**Enjoy!**

…

Kendall shook. He couldn't help it. Despite the numbness, he could feel his chest shaking wildly, as if he were cold. And maybe he was cold—he couldn't tell. He couldn't feel anything from the neck down. Every time he tried to lift his arms, they flopped heavily and then pins and needles shot up from his fingertips on up. Something in the back of his mind told him that was _not _a good thing, but he didn't have the energy or the coherency to care.

He was going stir crazy trapped in here. There was literally nothing he could do without someone there to do it with. For a few minutes he took to talking to himself out loud, until the pain made him realize how crazy stupid that was. So he laid trapped beneath the rubble, trapped within the silence, going crazy and numb and shaking even though there wasn't much reason to.

His worry for his sister faded. His worry for himself faded—his worry for anyone, actually, faded to the back of his mind. He shook and his eyes closed and he was beyond ready to give up—that was, until he heard his name.

…

Logan now knew what it meant to have a panic attack. He remembered the feeling he had right before he woke—that something was wrong, _way _wrong, and that he had to wake up before something horrible happened. So his eyes snapped open, and the first thing he noticed was how dark it was.

The blackness was suffocating. It scared the crap out of him. Logan lay frozen, eyes wide but seeing nothing. His breathing sounded loud in his ears. He had to work on that—it sounded like he was hyperventilating. Even worse, the room seemed to spin. He couldn't tell how so, especially when it was just as black when he closed his eyes as when he opened them, but his stomach started doing flip-flops and the vertigo washed over him like he was being tipped upside. He suddenly couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't anything but panic, trapped in this frozen position trying desperately to see.

_This isn't right._

Logan clenched his fists and pressed them to his temples. Now was not the time to panic. He couldn't panic now. He had to do something to get him out of this mess. One step at a time.

He took a deep breath, and then another. Slowly he started to calm down. As he opened his eyes again—when had he even closed them?—he noticed the faintest light allowing his eyes to adjust to the blackness. So that's how it felt like he could see and yet he couldn't. His eyes hadn't adjusted to the dimness yet.

Looking around confirmed that his sight was limited, but it was there. Logan sighed in relief and felt his heart start to slow down. It had been pumping so fast his chest ached.

Relaxing helped him focus on the next problem. There was something missing in this picture. He couldn't tell what. By the haze and pounding headache, Logan could tell he was concussed. But that had to be put on the backburner until he could figure out why in the world it felt like he was missing something important. It was _so _important—more than forgetting his homework on finals, more than leaving his keys on the kitchen counter, more than anything that might've been important to him before. But he couldn't put his finger on it.

Logan frowned and he tried to get to his feet. There was this thing blocking him. It was large and metallic and—

His eyes widened as he felt along the smooth surface until he got to the edge. It was the doors. Of course it was—the doors de-magnetized and collapsed inwards, as they're supposed to do in case of an emergency.

Feeling his way around the door, Logan slowly got to his feet and leaned against the railing—or at least, he tried to. The railing on the right wall of the elevator was definitely gone. He could feel where the screws usually went into the plaster. When had that happened? Logan wracked his brain but couldn't even get past the feeling that there was something missing that he needed.

"Phone?" he muttered to himself, checking his pockets. No phone. He squinted into the dimly lit blackness and made out the side of the panel beneath the buttons. The door was cracked open, and the sleek black telephone was in a heap of cords on the floor beneath it. It was obviously disconnected, so there went that plan.

He took a step and then looked down in surprise. The floor was wet. Why was it wet? Logan frowned. Hotel elevators usually didn't have carpet because people used the elevators coming up from the pool.

Pool! That jolted a thought a loose. Logan froze, thinking hard, grasping at the floating piece of importance. The pool… something he left at the pool? Someone in here who'd been at the pool?

All at once, he remembered. Carlos. Of course, Carlos—Carlos had been dripping wet when Logan had rushed into the elevator. He'd barely even noticed when he'd woken the first time—mostly because Carlos was more or less dry at that time. His eyes widened. Had they really been in this elevator that long? Better question: where the hell was Carlos _now?_

"Carlos?"

Logan looked, he really did. And it was so dark, he could almost convince himself that Carlos really was there, unconscious in the corner or maybe even trapped beneath the elevator doors. And as horrible as that was, he wanted _so badly _believe that his friend was still in this tiny little elevator with him. But he wasn't.

Logan lost it. His mouth opened but nothing came out, the terror choking him and closing his throat so not only could he not scream, but he couldn't even breathe either. Carlos was gone. He was gone. Where did he go? Where could he have possibly gone? Was he even in here in the first place, or had Logan dreamed all that up?

Was he seriously having a second panic attack in less than five minutes?

Tremors shook him from head to toe. Logan slammed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying desperately to keep from crying. He shook so hard, he felt ridiculous, and he had the stupid urge to look around to see if anyone was watching him freak out like this.

"Calm _down, _Mitchell!" he growled at himself. Now was not the time to lose it! Find out where Carlos went, and _then _panic.

"Okay," he said out loud. "Okay." Carlos _had _been in the elevator with him. Logan remembered popping his dislocated shoulder back in. He winced—that was not something he ever wanted to relive. But that meant he had to have gone somewhere. Logan's phone was missing, too. So either he dropped it and it was somewhere on the floor, or Carlos had taken it.

A quick survey of the carpet confirmed that Logan's cell phone definitely wasn't on the ground. So Carlos took it. For what? To call for help? It was really hard to get reception in an elevator. So maybe he climbed out of the elevator after the doors were released, went to go get help.

Logan looked out into the void and blinked. He suddenly realized that the glow was coming from _outside _the elevator car, not inside like he'd originally thought. Logan edged around the door and leaned forward, peering up at where the light was coming from. His jaw dropped in disbelief. A few yards above him, the hallway's bright lights shone into the elevator shaft through the doorway. That's where Carlos went. He'd somehow used the beams crisscrossing the shaft to get up to the right level and then somehow pried the doors open.

He shook his head. Carlos did all of that with a previously dislocated shoulder? He knew adrenaline made people do things they never could've done without help, but that was unbelievable.

No. What was unbelievable was that he was going to do the same.

Logan shook his head. He really was crazy. But he had the choice of staying in the tiny, dark, cramped elevator with no one to keep him company or braving an elevator shaft with tiny beams with a concussion in order to get to safety. And he was taking the second option.

He braced his feet against the door and mentally calculated the distance between him and the ledge that jutted out from the wall about five feet in front of him. He might be able to make it, if he didn't fall. And if he could stay still and not sway in place, like most concussed people did.

_That's a lot of ifs._

Logan closed his eyes. He could do this. All he had to do was jump. Piece of cake.

Heart pounded loudly, Logan launched off of the elevator. He was way short.

When he did crash into the walls, his elbow slammed against the ledge and he fell hard. It was only by some miracle that his fingers managed to latch onto the edge of the ledge, yanking his free fall to a very sudden, very painful stop. But he didn't let go as he dangled from the ledge, not daring to look down, not even daring to breathe. His swaying came to a stop and his fingers started to sweat, his shoulders felt like they were tearing out of their sockets, and Logan's head spun so much he wanted to throw up.

Deep breath. Logan breathed, closed his eyes, and pulled himself up. He almost fell again as he stood—the ledge was simply not wide enough for him to prop a knee up—but he held on and stood, back touching the shaft's wall, breathing heavily and shaking at how close he'd come to losing his life.

"Don't think about it," he whispered into the shaft. Maybe it was crazy to be talking out loud to himself. But it made him feel better.

He had to keep moving or he really would lose his mind. Logan looked up at the beam a few feet above his head. He didn't hesitate this time, shoving off against the wall to propel himself up. He caught the beam with a few feet to spare and hung there, swinging his legs back and forth to build momentum. Only when his feet crashed onto the hallway's carpet, projecting him face-first onto the floor, did he finally breathe.

"I did it." He stared at the sudden brightness, blinking, loving the feel of the flat, unimpressive carpet beneath his fingers. He stood unsteadily, nausea washing over him. But he waited, breathed, let the moment pass until he could finally stand and see and breathe again.

There. The staircase at the end of the hall. Logan stumbled blearily towards it, realizing that the fall had jolted him and his concussion more than he originally realized. But he pushed past it, determined to reach the staircase, and then… and then what?

He reached them and looked down. Carlos would be down there. Carlos and Camille—his heart ached to think about where she was when the earthquake happened. But when he looked up, he flashed to Kendall waving at him, telling him he was going back to the apartment with Katie to help come up with a present for Jo while she was in New Zealand. Kendall and Katie would've been in the apartment, he was sure of it. Would they have gotten out? Were they okay now? Or were they trapped in the room like he and Carlos had been?

There was only one way to find out. Logan took a deep breath. Safety, or his friends? Camille, or Kendall and Katie?

"Too late to do eenie meenie," he muttered to himself. Shaking his head, he made his decision, and made his way up the stairs.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey-o, people! Now that this is drawing to a close, I'm at a loss of what to work on next. SO I created a poll on my profile with some ideas for stories that I plan on writing, so you guys can help me pick which one to write first! Feel free to go vote. Don't worry—I'm writing all of them, but if more people want one story, I'll happily write that one first. xP**

**Enjoy!**

"You got it?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"Okay, ready? Go."

James looked up at the voices that drifted back to him. He was shivering and chattering and it was getting infinitely harder to keep treading the water. But the voices he heard sounded official and confident, like they knew what they were doing. Like they were here to rescue him.

"James?"

He jerked at the sound of his name. "Yeah?"

The crack opened a little bit, flooding light into the tiny space James was trapped in. A man's face appeared, silhouetted in the sudden brightness. James stared, too numb from the cold to even process that he didn't know this man.

He smiled at James. "Hi, James, I'm Aaron. C'mon, kid, we're getting you out of here."

That did it. James came alive, releasing his shaking fingers from his crossed arms and reaching up towards the man.

Much to his dismay, the man shook his head. "Sorry, kid—won't work that way. We're going to shove up on this balcony and then you need to swim through the crack at the bottom. Think you can do that?"

James barely understood what they wanted him to do. He felt fuzzy, semi-conscious, freezing and stiff and numb and exhausted. But as the man shoved up against the balcony, the crack on James' right opened up. Instinctively James took a breath and dipped beneath the surface. He kicked and thrashed, not quite knowing where he was going but propelling himself in one direction. When his lungs threatened to burst, something grabbed onto his upper forearm and tugged him up and out of the pool.

James didn't realize how wet he was until he was handed a towel. It was draped across his shoulders and he was suddenly annoyed at how unbalanced he felt with his neck dry and the rest of him soaked to the bone. He was cold, he was wet, and he felt a cold coming on as if that weren't the least of his problems.

He couldn't concentrate on the people surrounding him. He was pretty sure he recognized Camille's voice, and Katie's. But where was everyone else? Everything was a blur and his eyes stung from the chlorine. Even as he fingered his new towel he could feel the wrinkles in his fingertips and he hated it.

He didn't even realize that they were leading him to an ambulance until the doors shut with him inside. It was only then when he finally remembered to worry. What happened to the others?

…

"Kendall!" Logan pounded on the door, feeling borderline delusional. The door refused to open and it was going to drive him crazy. "Kendall!" he shouted again. "Katie! Answer me, please!"

"Logan?"

Someone appeared at the end of the hall. Logan had to blink a couple of times to recognize Carlos' bronze skin and wide eyes as he hurried towards him. The Latino walked with a limp and he was clutching his right shoulder, but there was still the determined fire in his eyes that told Logan he was in for trouble.

"Why didn't you stay in the elevator?" he demanded. "You have a concussion, Logan."

"And you have a dislocated shoulder," Logan retorted. Or he tried to—that was a long sentence to string together and the concussion explained a lot of the reason why he could barely think actual thoughts. Or memories. It was getting hazy to remember things that were important—not medical terms and logic, but the things that matter. Knowing that Kendall and Katie were somehow trapped in their room. Maybe? Why weren't they answering him?

"Logan," Carlos said again.

Logan snapped his head towards him and frowned when he saw how much closer Carlos had gotten. When had that happened? Did he teleport, or somehow possessed speeds that even Logan himself wasn't aware of…?

The room swayed for a second and Logan didn't even realize he was falling until Carlos caught him. He blinked as he saw the Latino boy's face pinch tightly in pain. A pang of guilt hit him as he straightened up. Carlos must've dislocated his shoulder again. Logan knew he hadn't done a very good job setting it before. Then again, he had been concussed.

"Focus, Logan," he told himself harshly.

Carlos didn't even seem to hear him. Maybe he hadn't said it out loud. But Carlos turned his attention to the door and tried to force his way inside it. Logan slumped against the wall to watch him.

"I already tried," Logan slurred when Carlos growled in frustration. He blinked to try to get the room to focus again. "It's blocked. Or something. Carlos, why… why did you leave?"

"I had to try to get help," Carlos said without looking at him.

"But you left me there." Logan frowned as he tried to remember. "All by myself. In the dark, you left me there. Why…? Why would you do that?"

Carlos didn't answer him. Logan wasn't sure he wanted one. He didn't even know why he asked that question. Logically it made sense: Logan was concussed, and probably unconscious at the time. Carlos only had one good shoulder. It made sense that he would leave to get help. But Logan couldn't help but feel abandoned, _again. _Maybe it had something to do with his father picking up and leaving when he was six, before he moved to Minnesota. But waking up to no Carlos had scared him witless. And Logan didn't know what to make of that fear.

He blinked. Carlos was no longer in his sight. Looking down, he saw the shorter boy squatting and fiddling with the hinges. When had he moved? Logan's lapse in concentration was freaking him out. He'd been concussed before, but never this bad. Right? He couldn't remember a time when it was this bad.

_That's not good._

"Got it."

Logan watched as Carlos straightened up. He had two bronze screws in his hand—the screws to the hinges. How did he get those out? And why were his fingers bleeding?

The questions darted to the back of his mind as he watched Carlos struggle to open the door with only his left arm. Logan frowned. He felt like he should be doing something important to help Carlos out, but he couldn't figure out what it was. Helping him open the door? Maybe. He stepped forward and helped the Latino boy tug on the wood. With a couple of yanks, it came free.

"Kendall!" Carlos hollered as he stepped inside. Logan followed, blinking blearily at everything, kind of confused. Really confused, actually. Disoriented. Exhausted.

"Logan."

Logan's head swiveled at his name. He tried to find Carlos and had to look down again, because the younger boy was kneeling on the ground beside a small lump of—wait, that wasn't a lump. That was a head. Kendall's head—he could tell by the blondeness, even though the blonde was matted with thick, sticky-looking, dark red blood.

He stumbled over to Carlos and as he looked at the smaller boy he could see the tears glistening in his eyes. He didn't understand until he turned his attention to Kendall. The blonde's eyes were closed. His face glistened with sweat, blood, and drying tears. But was he breathing? Logan's numb hands struggled to lift, push two fingers into Kendall's neck, and check his pulse. He kept it there longer than he needed to, because he forgot to recognize Kendall's heartbeat pulsing onto his fingertips. It was there. It was faint, but it was there.

Carlos stared at him, frantic eyes alternating between Logan's face and Kendall's. "Well?" he demanded. "Is he…?"

"He's alive," Logan confirmed. He had to concentrate to even get that out. "Um… I think he's in shock." Which was bad for Kendall. "We need to get him nutrients, fluids… his body's shutting down."

"We need to get him out of there," Carlos muttered. He started to lift the heavy piece of ceiling that Logan just now noticed was sitting there.

It took Logan a second to realize what he was doing. "No!" he gasped, reaching out with a hand.

Carlos froze, terrified of doing something wrong.

Lucidity snapped into place for a split second. "Don't move that," he warned. "He'll die if you do."

His friend's bronze skin paled and he carefully eased the ceiling back onto Kendall's chest.

"Then what do we do?" he whispered brokenly.

Logan frowned, trying to think. "We need… we need help."

"I tried calling the police," Carlos muttered. "The operator said something like, the lines are all too busy. I think the whole city's calling the police right now."

Logan didn't answer. He sat numbly on his heels and then when that couldn't balance him anymore, he crashed onto his rear end. Carlos sat down next to him, staring at Kendall's slack face.

"I knew he was up here," he whispered. "Something just _told _me. And when I final decided to just come up and check… I was gonna just stay down in the lobby and wait until I could reach someone… but then you were up here and I just…"

He was rambling, Logan noted. But Logan didn't mind. He missed the sound of his friend's voice—so rustic and genuine and happy most days.

But not today. Logan didn't think anyone could be happy today.

Carlos suddenly stumbled to his feet. Logan looked up at him and noted the fierce look on his face, like he'd suddenly come to a revelation.

"I'm going to try again," Carlos said, mostly to himself.

"Try what again?"

He looked down at Logan. "Try to reach the cops. Try to get them to help Kendall. He's going to die if we don't." His voice cracked horribly on _die, _but Logan understood why. He stared thoughtfully at Kendall before nodding.

"Okay," Carlos said. He started for the door and then turned back to Logan. "Stay here?"

"I'll stay," Logan said, but he wasn't so sure he would. It was too hard to concentrate now. He didn't even remember what he promised.

But Carlos nodded anyways. "I'll be right back." He paused as he started to go out the doorway, like he'd said the words before. Logan didn't know why, but the look Carlos was giving him and Kendall almost implied that they might not see each other for a long time.

Carlos nodded again, once firmly this time. "Stay here." And he slipped out of the door.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to YoungJustice101, who a) Likes Young Justice (YESSSSSS, DUDE!) and b) Not only wouldn't stop pestering me to update this, but also reccomended this story (and Big Time Hold Up?) to a friend of hers. Who I suspect also likes Young Justice. Dude, I cannot tell you how flattering that is! ^_^ Thank you so much!**

**Enjoy!**

"_This just in—an earthquake measuring 8.65 on the Richter Scale has struck California—the Los Angeles city in particular."_

Jo looked up from her cereal to stare at the TV. The New Zealand accent had taken a while to get used to, but that wasn't what caught her attention. She gasped as the picture flashed on the screen—_her _LA, in tattered rubble, smoke, and dust. The skyscrapers seemed to be the only things intact. Everything else was destroyed—completely and utterly.

Her next thought was Kendall. And then panic set in. The bowl she was holding clattered to the table as she stood abruptly, almost knocking her chair down.

"Dad!"

…

"You're okay, you're okay."

Aaron held the shaking girl in his arms as she was finally released from the crumpled vending machine that had fallen on her when the earthquake hit. The EMTs carefully extracted her from his grasp and helped her outside to the ambulance. Aaron watched her go, meeting up with two of her friends who'd made it out without a scratch. He wiped his brow, exhausted, when he heard a frantic voice reach his ears.

"You're here!"

He looked up at the kid scrambling down the steps towards him. His arm was very obviously dislocated and he had dried blood on the side of his face, but he barely noticed. His chocolate eyes were alight with excitement and relief.

Aaron caught him as his foot caught on the last step and he fell face forward. "I'm okay," the teenager gasped, steadying himself. He turned his large eyes towards Aaron. "But how are you here? I wasn't able to get through to you before."

"The person who called us was a young girl named Katie Knight," Aaron supplied.

"Katie." His voice sounded odd—like he wanted to be happy that she was safe, but something was holding him back.

Aaron figured it was the dislocated shoulder. "Come on, why don't we go out to—"

"No," the kid said, wide-eyed, as he stumbled back a couple of feet. "No, no, you need to help my friends first."

He turned tail and took off back up the stairs. Aaron swore after a beat, realizing what had happened. Obviously the limp and dislocated shoulder did nothing to quell the kid's determination.

"Ron," he called to one of his teammates. "Follow me."

He took the stairs three at a time to try to catch up to the kid, and still only managed to stay half a flight behind him. Was it adrenaline that was making the teen so fast? Or was he always that energetic?

Finally the kid slipped through the door out of the staircase, pausing only to make sure Aaron and Ron were still with him before all but sprinting down the hallway. Aaron followed, struggling to keep up. The kid stopped in front of apartment 2J and dashed inside before Aaron could tell him no.

Aaron peered into the room and watched as the kid carefully stepped over fallen debris and furniture. His face was slack with shock and surprise.

"Logan?" he whispered.

Aaron looked at Ron. Ron looked at Aaron. "Come on," Aaron said, stepping into the room. He tried to remember where the kid had stepped as he went, but the floor seemed sturdy enough. He and Ron maneuvered their way through the debris and knelt by the kid.

He looked up, fresh tears trailing down his cheeks. "I said I'd be right back," he muttered.

That didn't make much sense to Aaron until he looked down. The kid had pulled another boy's head into his lap—an unconscious boy, with a head wound that was still bleeding at the back of his head. His pale face seemed almost ashen.

Aaron didn't waste time with words, leaning forward and pressing two fingers to the boy's wrist, and then under his neck. "He's alive," he muttered. "Barely."

"Kendall," the kid muttered. He redirected Aaron's attention with a jerk of his chin at the giant pile of rubble in the center of the room.

It was then Aaron noticed another boy—blonde, the same age as the others—lying beneath the slab of ceiling. His breath caught at the blood on his slack face, the only part visible from here.

Ron swore behind him, and the kid flinched.

"We've got a crush victim," Aaron said grimly. "Ron, get Angie and an EMT. We're going to need a drip line and something to pry this thing off of him."

"What are you gonna do?" the kid asked, looking up at him.

Aaron knelt so they were eye level. "What's your name?"

"Carlos."

"Carlos," Aaron echoed, nodding. "You did good getting us up here. We're going to take good care of your friends now."

Carlos tensed, like he knew what was coming. Aaron sighed. "You need to go downstairs now—"

The kid was already shaking his head. "I'm not leaving them here."

"You need medical attention," Aaron argued. "You have a dislocated shoulder and I'm pretty sure you have a concussion, too—"

"They wouldn't leave me," Carlos interrupted. "I'm not leaving them. You might need my help or something. Logan wants to be a doctor someday and he always let me help him, because I might get hurt someday and need his advice so I'd know what to do. I'm not leaving them."

His eyes had narrowed in defiance and determination. Aaron frowned. He really wasn't going to leave his friends.

"Alright," he said finally. "Then help me get—Logan?—help me get Logan downstairs."

Carlos obviously didn't like leaving Kendall there either, but he used his good arm to help Aaron lift Logan and start to slowly take him down the stairs. On the way down they passed the crush victim specialists.

"Who're they?" Carlos wanted to know.

"They're the people who are going to get Kendall out," Aaron said.

They got downstairs quickly enough. Once the EMTs saw Logan they went into overdrive, asking Carlos questions so fast the Latino boy looked like he had a hard time keeping up.

Aaron took the kid by the shoulders. "Go with them to the hospital," he insisted. Carlos started to shake his head, but Aaron gripped them tighter and looked him in the eyes. "You're not abandoning Kendall by leaving," he said firmly. "You're making sure Logan stays alive, by giving the paramedics the information they need to save his life."

Carlos looked so torn it looked physically painful. But after a brief second, he nodded. Aaron returned the nod and started to turn back to finish his job when Carlos caught his arm. Much to Aaron's surprise, the kid hugged him tightly, dislocated shoulder and all.

"Please," he whispered. "Please, _please _save Kendall."

Aaron bit his lip, hating to promise anything he couldn't keep. "I'll do my best."

Apparently that answer was satisfactory. Carlos nodded and left with the paramedics, riding in the back of the ambulance with his unconscious friend.

Aaron shook his head. He had work to do.

…

"Carlos!"

Carlos looked up and nearly burst into tears again as Katie and Ms. Knight rushed towards him. He'd been sitting in the same chair for what felt like hours but could've only been fifteen minutes, waiting for news on Logan. The doctors took one look at him and their faces told Carlos everything.

Katie, careful of Carlos' new sling, gave Carlos a crushing hug before stepping back to look him over. "You're okay?" she demanded. "No broken bones?"

"It's just dislocated," Carlos said, smiling tiredly at her concern. He looked at Ms. Knight. "When did you get here? You weren't hurt?"

"I was in the car," she said. "I'm more worried about you." She hesitated. "Katie told me about Kendall. Is he…?"

"I haven't seen him come in," Carlos admitted. "Logan's getting his brain x-rayed… or something. The doctors called it a "Memor-ai"… or something like that."

"An MRI?" Carlos nodded, and Katie frowned. "That's… not good. What happened?"

Carlos told them, start to finish. He'd retold the story so many times it was starting to get old. But the two Knights listened with rapt attention, and when he was finished they hugged him again and told him how brave he was.

He didn't feel very brave. In the elevator he'd freaked out more than once. He dislocated the shoulder Logan had popped back in again and left his best friend unconscious in an elevator that could've plummeted further. And he left Kendall back at the apartment.

Katie told her story. When she finished she said, "James and Camille are here in the hospital, too. Doctor said they both have pneumonia."

Carlos frowned. "Is that bad?"

Ms. Knight rubbed his good shoulder. "It's a nasty illness, but they'll survive," she said soothingly. "Would you like to see them?"

Carlos looked reluctantly at the doors where the doctor treating Logan would come out of. He didn't want to leave his post if the doctor came out. But he also didn't want to miss out on seeing James—and Camille—alive.

Thankfully he didn't have to. The doors opened and a man stepped forward, eyes on his clipboard. Even before he spoke Carlos knew he was there for Logan.

"Logan Mitchell?" the doctor called.

Carlos was in front of him in an instant, so fast that the doctor took a step back. "Energetic, are we?" He looked around. "Um, is there an adult here?"

"I am Logan's guardian," Ms. Knight spoke, stepping forward with Katie. "Jennifer Knight."

The doctor cleared his throat. "My name is Dr. Wallace Pearson. May we speak in private?"

Katie crossed her arms defiantly. "Anything you say in front of her can be said in front of us."

Dr. Pearson looked up at Ms. Knight for permission, and she nodded. "How is he, doctor?"

"His injuries were minimal," the doctor said with a sigh. "But we were most concerned with the massive brain swelling. He'd been hit in the head—almost in the same spot—more than once. When he was found, he was unconscious and he hasn't woken up since." Dr. Pearson paused, as if he didn't want to say the words. "I'm sorry, but Logan Mitchell is in a coma."

Ms. Knight's hand flew to her mouth. Katie buried her head in her hands and Carlos hugged her. He looked up at the doctor. "When will he wake up?" he asked, voice breaking.

"There's no way to tell," Dr. Pearson admitted. "It could be hours, it could be months, or even years."

Carlos choked on that. _"Years?"_

Dr. Pearson nodded. "I'm sorry. My niece is a big fan. We're all rooting for him, but it's up to him now. Visiting hours are still open if you want to see him. Room 314."

Ms. Knight thanked him and the doctor left, but Carlos barely heard the exchange. He numbly sat in his chair and stared at the wall, Katie shuddering in his arms. Logan might not wake up for _years. _He couldn't fathom that. Logan might not wake up at all.

"Carlos."

He looked up at Ms. Knight. She touched his elbow and helped him stand, Katie clutching Carlos' hand for dear life. "Let's go see him," she said.

Carlos nodded, not trusting himself to speak. All he could think as they walked down the hall was how this day could not possibly get any worse.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: So, on April 5th I reached 100 reviews on this story.**

**Wow. Just, wow. That's never happened to me before, and I cannot TELL you guys how honored I am. Thank you SO MUCH. You are all important to me, and your opinions, good or bad, rock my world. This chapter is for all of you. Thank you for getting me this far! Thank you so much!**

**Enjoy!**

Carlos didn't know why he hurt so much.

He stretched and then gasped as his shoulder protested harshly. His eyes flittered open. White greeted him from all sides—bright light, white walls, white sheets. With the white came the panic. Where was he? What happened? Why did everything hurt?

His eyes fell on Logan.

He already looked dead.

Time seemed to stop, completely and utterly, as he took in his best friend's state. The scariest thing was probably the tube down his throat, whirring and whistling like a ghost. Carlos' eyes traveled to Logan's ashen gray face, slack and lifeless. It was kind of ironic, having their future doctor lying in a hospital bed, unable to support his own body, forced to rely on a machine to help him breathe. Ironic, and terrifying.

Everything flooded back. The earthquake. The screaming, crying, falling. Blackness. Terror. Logan, James Kendall, Katie. The hospital. That's where he was—he was at the hospital. Morning light flitted through the blinds on the window. He'd been here all night, after coming in to see Logan. The exhaustion was too much, and seeing his best friend like this had pushed him over the edge. Sleep was the only option, the only thing that could make it better.

Carlos sat up in the chair he'd fallen asleep in, next to Logan's bed. Ms. Knight was already up—or maybe she'd never slept, he couldn't tell. She had Katie's head in her lap, stroking her hair. As she noticed Carlos' gaze, she gave him a faint smile.

Carlos returned it, but it was weaker than hers. He looked back at Logan.

What had the doctor said? He'd been hit in the head too many times. Carlos' heart sunk in his chest as he remembered the railing he'd loosened. It had hit Logan in the head the first time and who knew how many times after that?

"This is all my fault," he whispered. It sounded even more impossible as he heard the words out loud. Impossible, but true.

Ms. Knight rose carefully from the seat and crossed to him so fast he almost didn't register how close she was until she placed both hands to either of his cheeks and forced him to tear his eyes from Logan.

"This is in no way, shape, or form your fault," she said firmly.

Carlos averted his gaze, but his clenched fists tightened just enough to let her know that he didn't believe her in the slightest.

Ms. Knight pursed her lips, unsure of what to say to make him feel better.

"I left him in the elevator," Carlos went on before she could start. "And again when I went to go get help. Left him _twice. _And now he can't wake up." A tear dripped down his ruddy cheeks, and he scrubbed his good arm against his eyes.

"Oh, honey," Ms. Knight sighed. She grabbed Carlos' shoulders gently and pulled him into a hug. And as Katie woke, stood, and wrapped her arms around her mother and Carlos, she hugged her too.

They could've stayed like that for hours, but a knock on the door interrupted them. Carlos pulled away first, spotting the nurse on the other side. She was petite and fragile-looking, with reddish brown hair and bright blue eyes. Sheepishly she opened the door.

"Sorry to intrude," she said genuinely. "I have some tests to run on…" She looked down at her clipboard. "… Logan Mitchell."

Ms. Knight put a hand on Carlos' shoulder. "Come on," she said. "Let's go see James and Camille."

"Are you Ms. Knight?" the nurse asked.

"I am," she replied, giving her an odd look at being recognized.

"Is your son Kendall Knight?" At Ms. Knight's nod, she continued, "He's just been taken into surgery."

"Is he okay?" Katie demanded before Ms. Knight could.

The nurse pursed her lips. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "I only caught a glimpse as he was coming in."

Carlos bit his lip. "Will you… will you let us know when he gets better?"

Giving him a soft smile, she said, "All things going right, he should be out of surgery in a few hours."

"Thank you, nurse," Ms. Knight said as she started to steer Carlos and Katie out of the room.

"Call me Debbie," the nurse said. "We'll take good care of them both, don't worry."

…

James heard the door open, but he kept his eyes closed, too tired to turn.

"James?" Carlos' whispered voice floated to James' ears.

He opened his mouth to say something, but a round of coughing wracked him from head to toe. His head spun, and his ribs felt like they were snapping, healing, and then snapping again each time he coughed.

Opening his eyes tiredly, he looked up at Carlos, who stared down at him with a horrified look on his face.

"S'okay, Carlos," he murmured. "I've had pneumonia before, remember? I'll get better."

"You didn't sound this bad," Carlos responded, worry in his eyes.

James took in his friend's state. He'd been given a short sleeve shirt to cover his bare chest and some gray sweatpants, and his arm was in a sling. Other than cuts and bruises, he looked remarkably well, but his eyes—they glistened with terror and concern and pain.

"You okay?" James asked tiredly.

Carlos shook his head. Figures. He was never one to lie. "You?"

"Been better."

"I'm fine too, thanks for asking," Camille said good-naturedly from her spot in the bed across from James'.

Carlos looked at her but didn't smile at her joke. James frowned. Something was seriously wrong. "What's up, dude?"

The Latino took a deep breath and said the words to Camille. "Logan is in a coma."

Camille didn't respond again aside from the occasional coughing fit. James stared at Carlos, feeling like whatever breath he could draw had been punched out of his lungs.

"Isn't that…" James' mind raced to find the words. "Like, when you fall asleep, and—"

"You never wake up," Camille snapped.

"That's not true," Carlos protested. "The doctor said it could be hours."

"Or years."

Everyone turned their heads to look at Katie, who was standing in the doorway with Ms. Knight. Her mother frowned disapprovingly at her, but Katie crossed her arms over her chest.

"They don't know when he's going to wake up," Katie continued. Her voice broke at the end of the sentence.

"He'll be fine," Carlos said, pulling her into a one-armed hug. "We're all going to be fine."

"How can you know that?" James demanded. He coughed, felt his ribs stab into his lungs again, and tried to breathe so he could talk more. "This isn't like the movies, Carlos. What about Kendall?" His eyes widened as he realized that Katie was here, but Kendall wasn't. "Guys. What happened to Kendall?"

Carlos looked at Katie, Katie at Carlos.

Ms. Knight spoke up, saving them both from answering. "We don't know," she said. "He was… trapped under a piece of ceiling. He's in surgery right now."

James wished everything would just go back to normal. He closed his eyes and pretended that no one was talking, that he was back in his own bed the night before the earthquake and not in the hospital with his friends.

And then the urge to cough overcame him, and before he knew it he was coughing so hard the nurse came in and helped him roll onto his side. Every time he tried to breath his chest crackled like he had something loose in his throat. He'd had pneumonia before—it was almost a given being a hockey player in Minnesota—but he couldn't even remember how it felt then compared to now.

"We should get some food," Ms. Knight said, putting an arm on Carlos' shoulder as the nurse helped roll James back onto his back.

James felt a pang of jealousy. There was no way he was getting to eat anything other than pudding and Jell-O and other things that slide down the throat easily. He would kill for a pizza.

Carlos looked ready to protest, but his stomach growled in protest and he looked down sheepishly. "I haven't had anything since breakfast yesterday," he admitted.

"There's something wrong with that sentence," Camille said, and for a brief moment James could smile at the joke. Carlos looked at her, and she gave him a nod. "Go on. It's not like we're going anywhere."

When Carlos turned to James, James gave him a smile and a nod. He still didn't look convinced, but he allowed Ms. Knight to lead him and Katie out of their hospital room.

Camille sighed as soon as they were out of hearing range. "I swear, that boy would cuff himself to this bed if he had to."

James would've answered. But he was too busy coughing his lungs out.

…

Unfortunately for Carlos, he was recognized the minute he set foot in the cafeteria. It was jam packed with people—and maybe it had been the more well-known celebrities that had drawn the crowd of paparazzi. But as soon as someone put a face to a name, they were all over him.

"Carlos! Carlos!"

"Mr. Garcia, what are the conditions of the members of Big Time Rush?"

"What happened to Kendall, James, and Logan?"

"Is the Palm Woods destroyed? What of the other up and coming stars still trapped in the building?"

Carlos was completely unprepared. Blinding lights flashed in front of his eyes and the questions all jumbled together. He stumbled back from the brunt of it all, trying to reach for Ms. Knight and Katie. Much to his shock, they'd been separated. He tried to look for them, but all around him people were shouting and yelling, flashing lights and cameras and microphones into his face.

"LEAVE MY DOG ALONE."

The booming voice cut through the jumble of words like a laser, shocking everyone into silence. Carlos, though he never thought it possible, felt a swell of relief with the familiar voice as the crowd parted to reveal Gustavo and Kelly, walking briskly towards him.

Kelly took Carlos' good arm gently as Gustavo turned to face the press. "Carlos has nothing to say to you," he barked, only lowering his voice a fraction. The reporters started to push closer, opening their mouths to ask something else, and Gustavo took off his ever-present sunglasses and glared daggers at them. "And _neither _do _we."_

Kelly spoke up then. "The only reason you're in here is to get an update on the conditions of well-known people, not _mob _a teenager who is obviously in a state of shock. You need _permission _to be here, and I can have you escorted off the premises if you bother us again."

None of them spoke up again. Carlos didn't know if it was because of how scary Gustavo was, or because Kelly really did have the ability to have them thrown out, or what. But he was grateful when they started to back away enough for Katie and Ms. Knight to run to him and envelope him in a hug.

"Are you okay?" Ms. Knight asked as Kelly helped him sit at a table. "I'm so sorry, I should've checked—"

"It's okay," Carlos said quietly. He gazed up at Gustavo. "Thanks."

Gustavo looked embarrassed. "Vultures," he said gruffly.

"They're not usually allowed in hospitals, but enough patients gave their consent to be interviewed that they were let in," Kelly explained, sitting down across from Carlos. "They were probably waiting here in the cafeteria for someone they knew."

"I didn't know I was so easy to be recognized," Carlos muttered.

She smiled at him. "Face it. You guys are becoming more and more popular."

Carlos didn't answer. Ms. Knight steered Katie by the shoulder over to the food. "I'll get you something, Carlos," she called over her shoulder.

He gave a nod of acknowledgment, even though she was already gone, and faced Gustavo and Kelly. "Where were you during… you know."

"In my limo," Gustavo grunted. "Which is completely destroyed, by the way. The good news: Rocque Records is in pretty good shape for an earthquake."

"Bad news?"

Kelly put her hand on Carlos', and he didn't move away. She gave him a kind look. "You guys were in the earthquake."

Carlos looked at her hand on his and searched for something to say.

Kelly saved him. "How are you?"

"Fine," he said, looking at his sling. "It's, um, dislocated. I was in the elevator with… with Logan."

She looked at him in concern, waiting for him to continue. And once he started to talk, he couldn't stop. "Logan's… he hit his head so many times, I guess, there was too much damage, and… he's in a coma." He stumbled over the words. "James was in the pool with Camille, and they both got pneumonia. And Kendall… Kendall was, I don't know, trapped… they called him a 'crush victim', or something…"

Kelly drew in a silent breath, but Carlos heard it. She knew what a crush victim was. Good, because he didn't, and he had a feeling it was bad—really bad.

He took a breath and refused to cry in front of them. "Kendall is still in surgery. I got lucky. The doctor said I could go home, but…"

Kelly nodded. She understood. Maybe on a normal day, if he _absolutely had to, _he would return home. But the only home available was hundreds of miles away. The doctor meant the home he had here in California. But ever since yesterday afternoon, in less than two minutes, that home had been reduced to rubble with him and his friends trapped in it.

There was no home anymore.


	12. Chapter 12

_"The nation is left in shock and horror in the aftermath of the massive earthquake that struck Los Angeles yesterday afternoon, killing dozens of people and injuring thousands, some of them well known celebrities of our time."_

Carlos closed his eyes and tried to tune out the TV as the words blared—softly—through the speakers. He sat slumped in the chair next to Logan's bed. He'd been alone for the last hour, requesting some time to think to everyone else. They were crowding him, and after the elevator incident he couldn't stand being crowded again.

Logan hadn't changed, which didn't surprise Carlos. But it did make him feel even worse. He'd seen Logan asleep, of course, but this was so _different. _A machine was breathing for him. If it somehow malfunctioned or broke, Logan would die, just like that.

Thinking about it scared the hell out of Carlos. He swallowed hard.

_"…Carlos Garcia, Kendall Knight, James Diamond, and Logan Mitchell—all members of the up-and-coming boy band that seem to be capturing the hearts of American's youth."_

Carlos looked up at his name, seeing his picture flash on the screen with Kendall, Logan, and James. They were "among the famous injured" list, and the pictures only stayed on for another second until it moved on. Carlos sighed and shook his head.

How had it all gone so wrong, so fast? Kendall was in surgery. Logan was comatose. James was bedridden and Carlos had a dislocated shoulder and a newly developed fear of small spaces. Now what? Where in the world was he supposed to go from here?

The door burst open. "Carlos!"

Carlos jumped a foot in the air. Something slammed into him, arms wrapping around his midsection before he could recover.

"Maya," someone scolded lightly.

The seven-year-old looked up at Carlos with shining eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, Maya," he said, hugging his sister tight with one hand. Looking up he saw his mother and father standing in the doorway, and he smiled. "Mom, Papi…"

Both rushed into the hospital room, hugging Carlos as he stood. "I'm fine," he told them over and over. "It's just dislocated. I'm fine." He looked behind them and felt a pang of disappointment. "Where's Marco?"

"He's on a plane here right now," his Papi told him. "He had to finish some things at Ohio State, but he'll be here in an hour or so."

Carlos nodded and hugged his family tighter. "I'm so glad you guys are here," he said, voice breaking slightly.

Sylvia couldn't stop kissing her son's forehead. She pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes as she sighed. "How's Logan?" she asked finally, looking over at the bed.

"The same," Carlos said glumly. "They don't know when he's going to wake up."

"I'm so sorry, _mijo," _his Papi sighed, pulling him into another hug.

"S'okay," Carlos mumbled. He pulled out of his embrace and looked at his parents. "Um, do you have any clothes for me? These sweatpants are too loose, and my clothes are back at the Palm Woods."

"How about we go get some?" Sylvia suggested. "You can pick out the clothes you want."

Carlos hesitated. He didn't really want to leave. Actually, he didn't want to leave _at all. _

"Come on, _mijo," _Sylvia said, touching his arm briefly. "It'll be good for you. You've been here for almost twenty-four hours."

"We'll come right back?" Carlos asked uncertainly.

"We'll come right back," his mother confirmed.

Carlos looked at Logan. He wanted to be there when he woke up, but his mother was right. He would go crazy if he had to stay in this stupid hospital any longer. So he sighed, and allowed his family to lead him outside.

The next hour flew by in a blur. Every store they tried was closed or destroyed, and people had lined up the streets for giveaways. It was unbelievable. Carlos remembered seeing things like this on the news after Hurricane Katrina and the earthquakes in Chile, Japan, Haiti… but he never expected it to be happening in his own backyard. Carlos looked away from the window before he could be sick.

"Let's just go back," he suggested quietly.

"One more place," his Papi said, pulling into the packed parking lot. He turned the car off and turned around in his seat to look at Carlos. Noting how tired he looked—he'd been in and out of the car a million times before this—he said, "Do you want to stay here in the car?"

Carlos didn't know how to answer. He wanted to, yes, but he also didn't want to look pathetic. So he bit his lip and let his father decide for him.

His Papi nodded, understanding. "Maya, stay here with your brother."

Maya sighed loudly like seven-year-olds do when they're not allowed to be included in adult affairs. Carlos chuckled for the first time in twenty-four hours and kissed his sister on the forehead. They watched as their parents slipped out of the car, leaving the keys in the engine. This was the third stop they made on the street where volunteers set up shop to help get supplies to the earthquake victims. Looking around, Carlos felt his heart break for the people who would never get their homes back, never get their belongings back. He didn't belong here. At least back in Minnesota he still had a home.

_Knock, knock._

Carlos looked up as a man—dressed in grimy rags and beanies, any clothing article imaginable piled up on him, despite it being almost eighty outside—peered through the window at him, reaching for the door handle. He opened it and poked his head inside.

"A car," he breathed. "With keys."

"Um, this is our car," Carlos said politely.

The man didn't seem to hear him. He started to climb inside. Carlos sat up, alarmed. "This is our car," he said firmly. "You're not supposed to be in here."

"Shuddap kid," the man mumbled, reaching for the steering wheel.

"Carlos?" Maya whimpered, clutching at Carlos' arm.

Anger swelled in Carlos' chest. He lunged forward and shoved the man out. He landed hard on his butt, staring at Carlos with a stricken, betrayed expression. Carlos barely noticed. He grabbed the handle of the door and slammed it shut, taking out the keys and locking them both inside.

Outside, the man was speaking, drawing a crowd of other dressed like him. It finally clicked in Carlos' brain—the man was homeless. Of course. A car with keys still in the ignition would be perfect for a desperate man needing a home. Which meant that the others crowding around the car were homeless too. They clutched at the windows, scratching long nails against the glass like zombies trying to get in. A woman even broke down in tears right next to Carlos' face, the thin glass window the only thing separating them.

"Carlos," Maya said. "Why are they doing that?"

Carlos couldn't answer. What was he supposed to say to that? He grabbed his sister and pulled her into his lap, putting on hand on the back of her head so he could press her to his chest. He drew his knees up, both to support her and to make more room for himself as the car started to rock to and fro as the people clutched at it from outside.

Maya started to cry. Carlos squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his heart pound. There was no way out. No way out. The car seemed to shrink in on him and Maya, leaving him breathless, terrified. It was just like the elevator—except, it was worse. It was smaller. And there were people outside trying to get in, people who wouldn't hesitate to leave them without a car if they had to.

Carlos shakily whispered a Spanish song in his sister's ear as he stroked her hair, rocking her back and forth. He didn't open his eyes once, pretending that he was back home in Maya's room when she couldn't sleep at night, rocking her and singing to her just like he used to.

_"..los? Carlos? Carlos—_open the door!"

The words drifted to his ears. Carlos pried his eyes open, pausing in his song, to see his mother and father pounding on the window. The people had dissipated, probably scared off when his parents came back to the car. With trembling fingers Carlos leaned over the front seat to unlock the car.

Sylvia opened the back door and pulled him outside where she could hug him properly. Carlos shook from head to toe in her embrace, barely listening as she murmured comforting words in Spanish in his ear.

"I am so sorry," she whispered. "Are you alright? We won't leave you alone like that again. I am so sorry, _mijo."_

Carlos looked over his shoulder at Maya, who looked about a freaked out as he felt. He turned back to his mother and said, "I guess I don't really need new clothes."

"But Carlos—"

"Can we just go back to the hospital?" he asked quietly, averting his gaze. "Please?"

Sylvia paused and sent an agonized look at her husband. He shrugged helplessly. Carlos' sudden quietness was scaring him witless, too.

"Alright, Carlos," she murmured. "Let's go."

Carlos looked around the parking lot, now devoid of people save for the volunteers as they went to pack their stuff. How long had he been in the car with his sister? How long had it taken for his parents to fight through the crowd of homeless to get to him?

He threw a glance over his shoulder at the car. It looked so tiny now, and he wasn't in any hurry to get back into that small space. "Can we just… stand out here for a second?"

"Of course."

Carlos pulled away from his mother and went to stand by himself in the parking lot, rubbing his hands on his arms even though it was pleasantly warm outside. The destruction had reached even here—the road had split precariously in different places, trees had snapped and toppled over, and buildings had collapsed. He had no idea what he thought was so strong was actually so fragile. That something as small as excessive shaking could destroy his home in so little time.

When he finally got back in the car, he didn't speak. His parents didn't offer any words, either—whether they even knew what to say to him, he didn't know. Carlos stared out the window all the way to the hospital, but he barely saw any of it. His mind was a million miles away.

Carlos shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked through the front doors of the hospital. He wanted to check on Logan and then go visit James first, because he knew James was probably going out of his mind with boredom. So, his family following close behind, he headed back to Logan's room.

He never got there. Ms. Knight held a shaking Katie, who had tears streaming down her face. Carlos stopped and stared, because Katie never cried. It just didn't happen.

"What's wrong?" he asked falteringly. "Is Logan…?"

"It's Kendall," Ms. Knight said, looking up at him. "His wounds were infected—the surgery took a bad turn." She caught her breath, like she didn't want to say the next words. "They're not sure he'll make it."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Okay, first off- I HAVE AN EXCUSE! Ish! My mom's in Vegas and she kinda locked the computer. So, no access. At all. Be happy I can use my school's. But HEY, I'm here, aren't I? With a new chapter! And that nice surprise I was telling you about! Most of you have guessed it, but I won't say anything if you haven't. ^_^**

**Also, I'm extending my poll to THIS FRIDAY. Then it closes! By the by, it's still tied between The Revenge of Atticus Moon and Good People! Which one do you want to see next? Don't worry- I will write all of them. And I do write two fics at a time. So if your favorite isn't picked first, just keep a lookout! It'll be up soon! Ish!**

**Lastly, I didn't mean for this chapter to come out all angsty, but it's, like, one in the morning and I'm tired. Which may also explain any typos you may see (who am I kidding? I'm the typo MASTER. *really needs a beta*). **

**Enjoy!**

**...**

James stared at the ceiling. "I'm going to go crazy."

"Get in line." Camille crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head to look at him. "Hey—what say we sneak out of here and go see Logan?"

"As much as I am all for that idea," James sighed, "we can't, remember? IV's? Loud coughing that'll draw every doctor on the floor straight to us?"

Camille scowled. "We can be stealthy." She started to say something else, but then erupted into a coughing fit that took her breath away. Slamming further into her pillow, she growled, "I hate this! Isn't the medicine supposed to help us stop coughing?"

"You've never had pneumonia before, have you?"

"What, and you have?"

James nodded as much as he could. "All of us but Carlos. We spent two nights out in the snow after we got stranded the day before a hockey competition. It sucked, big time. Carlos just got lucky because he has this wicked immune system. But anyways, this isn't as bad—we just were stuck in a pool for three or four hours."

"Oh, is that all?" Camille said sarcastically.

James coughed a couple of times, feeling his lungs rattle. "Anyways, we should be better in a couple of weeks."

"I can't wait a couple of weeks," Camille groaned.

"Me either."

They fell silent. James tried not to think about how much he wanted to cough. But, of course, as soon as he had the thought the urge became too much and he started up on his fit again. As it subsided he leaned back against the pillows, exhausted.

The humidifier by his bed hummed peacefully in his ear. James wanted to tear it out and throw it across the room, but he barely had the energy to sit up and eat his pudding. Not to mention, the doctors said it was helping him. He couldn't tell. He just wanted to get up and out of here so he could see his friends and make sure they were still ali—_okay._

_Knock, knock. _

James looked over at Nurse Debbie, who poked her head through the door. "Do you need anything?" she asked kindly.

James started to shake his head, but Camille said, "Is there any way we can go see other patients? Maybe take a walk around?"

Debbie paused thoughtfully. "Well, it's against regulations to allow patients to walk around," she mused. "And we don't usually let sick patients interact with others, anyways."

Camille looked so down, Debbie sighed and said, "But I suppose if I get you two wheelchairs and facemasks, I'll see what I can do."

"Really?"

Debbie just gave Camille and James a smile and closed the door behind her. James looked at Camille and shook his head. "You and your doe eyes."

…

Carlos stood outside the door, staring in at Kendall. He was still unconscious. A nurse—this one a heavier, brunette woman by the name of Helen—bustled around his bed, getting him ready for his second round of surgery as Ms. Knight and Katie looked on.

"Don't you worry, now," Helen was saying, her voice cheerful and bright even as she worked. "We have the best surgeons in the county, you know. Probably in the whole state. Kendall is in good hands. Great hands, in fact."

She noticed Carlos standing behind the door and motioned for him to come inside. Carlos wanted to shake his head—or maybe run in the other direction—but instead he just stood there, staring at Kendall's slack face. It had been cleaned up, which Carlos thought ironic, especially since it wasn't his face that needed patching. A maze of wires and tubes surrounded him on the tiny bed, and the heart monitor beeped quietly by his head.

Looking at him, Carlos just couldn't see how he could survive. He looked so frail, so freaking _breakable. _How he was still alive now was a wonder to him. He should've died when Carlos and Logan found him in the apartment. He should've died the moment they released him from the ceiling. Or the instant he pushed Katie out of the way.

The whole thing seemed so surreal, Carlos couldn't process it. He heard the stories, connected the dots, but every bone in his body was screaming how Kendall _shouldn't be alive. _

He felt horrible for feeling that way.

That was why he couldn't go in there.

Carlos didn't realize that Katie and Ms. Knight were walking towards him until they opened the door. Katie had tear tracks on her cheeks, but her face was stoic and a little angry as she averted her gaze from Carlos'.

Ms. Knight looked at him. "They're about to bring him into surgery," she said.

Carlos cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the tiled floor.

Ms. Knight sighed. "You should see him. You never know what might happen." She looked at her watch. "You still have two minutes."

"Yeah," Carlos muttered. "Two minutes."

A lot could happen in two minutes.

"Go," Ms. Knight said, putting her hand on his shoulder as she walked past him, Katie tucked into her side.

Carlos really didn't want. But at the same time, he did. This could be the last time he ever saw his best friend, his _leader. _Taking a shaky breath, Carlos reached for the door handle and shakily opened the door.

Helen looked up and walked up to him. "I'll give you a minute," she said, smiling softly at him as she slipped around him and out the door.

The door closed behind him, feeling awfully final. Carlos took a reluctant step forward. He wanted to stop right where he was, but once he started moving it was like his feet had a mind of its own, propelling him forward until he was right by the bed.

His heard pounded so hard he could feel it without touching his chest, and hear it without needing to. He was scared, for some reason, like breathing on Kendall would make him slip off of whatever thin ledge he was holding onto. Like Logan. Except scarier. Maybe.

Carlos cleared his throat. "Hey." His voice came out scratchy and unused, and it startled Carlos. He hadn't really been talking lately—an odd change, since he was usually the talkative one of the group. Now he had few words to say and no one to say them to.

He coughed again, and this time the sound didn't come out so loud. "It's me, Carlos." _Well, duh. _He felt kind of stupid, talking to Kendall even though he couldn't talk back.

"The doctors say you might not make it," he continued. As he spoke his confidence grew, until it was like he was back at the apartment with his best friends, not in a hospital being the least injured of all of them. "They said… that your laceration—" He stumbled over the word, "—was infected, and that the infection is growing. They still have two more surgeries to do before they can pay attention to it. You're not expected to make it through the night."

Saying those words out loud made his eyes sting. Carlos ground his teeth together, not sure if he was angry or crushed. "But you can't." It came out harshly, breaking on the last word like a sob. "You can't leave, Kendall. It's not fair.

"You're the strong one, Kendall. You're the one who always gets us out of stuff, and who's never mad at us no matter what we do." Carlos trembled from head to toe as he stood, gripping his fists by Kendall's bed. "And just when we're strong enough to finally do something on our own, you think you can just quit? You _can't! _We _need _you!"

The tears spilled over then. Carlos tried to scrub them away, but fresh ones popped up and eventually he just gave up, letting them stream down his cheeks as he bowed his head and thought about what to say next.

"You can't die, Kendall," he said quietly. "I just… Please don't die?"

A knock on the door made him look up and spot Helen's face through the window, looking horribly apologetic. Carlos took a step back from the bed and wiped his face dry, although his face burned and his eyes stung and it felt like the world was just crashing down around him.

"I'm sorry, hon," Helen said as she opened the door. "Don't worry, though. We'll take good care of him."

Carlos didn't think she was lying as she and another nurse wheeled Kendall's bed out of the room. He just didn't think it would be enough.

…

"Oh, Logan," Camille sighed. Her voice came out muffled through the mask. James thought it looked ridiculous on her, but he didn't want to think about how he looked in it. So he didn't comment.

Logan, on the other hand, looked like a corpse about to be buried. Other than the nasty bump on the back of his head and a few scrapes and bruises, he looked remarkable. But his face was pale, his eyes were closed, his body was slack. He was comatose, and there was nothing they could do to bring him out of it.

James knew how comas affected people. Some could be in one for _years _before their families pulled the plug and let them die. James couldn't imagine how hard that would be. He decided right then and there that no matter how long it took for Logan to wake up, he would never let anyone let him die. Ever.

He gripped the wheels of his wheelchair and pushed himself to Logan's side. "Hey, buddy," he said, swallowing quietly. "Of all the messes, right?"

Camille gave him an encouraging nod as he looked up at her, wondering if he was doing this right. "He can hear you," she said. "Just keep doing what you're doing."

James had to pull away to cough into his mask so he wouldn't infect Logan, but he leaned forward again and said, slightly out of breath, "You're in a coma, Logan," he said firmly. "And you need to wake up. Now would be good."

"James," Camille sighed.

"What?" James took a minute to catch his breath, and then said, "You said he could hear us. And the doctors said he could be in the coma for days."

"Or months," Camille reminded him. "Or years. It just doesn't work that way, James."

"Forgive me for being the only optimist around here," James retorted. "And yes, I do know what that word means!"

Camille shook her head. "You can't get your hopes up."

"Yes, you can!" James stared at her disbelievingly. "I can't believe you're acting like this. You're his girlfriend. You _love _him, don't you? That's what you said in the pool!"

She frowned. "James."

"No," James said, shaking his head. He was seriously out of breath, but he was so angry now he didn't even notice. "Logan will get better. Kendall will get better. We're all going to get better, because that's what we _do, _okay? That's how we survive!"

"_James."_

"Why can't you just listen to me for once?" James said, frustrated. "I know I'm not the smartest guy around, but I do care about my friends. I thought you did too, but I guess you're the biggest pessimist there is around here."

"James!"

"What!"

Camille pointed at the bed, tears glistening in her eyes. James whirled and saw Logan studying him curiously with his eyes. His open, wide awake eyes.

For a second, James didn't even know what to do. But Camille wheeled herself forward and slapped her hand on the call button by Logan's bed, calling for help.

And James couldn't help it. As soon as he saw Logan, awake, conscious, _alive, _he burst into tears right then and there—which really didn't help with his coughing.


	14. Chapter 14

**Seriously, I have no excuse. *shies away from rotton fruits/veggies* Buuut this fic is almost finished! Seriousl, I have nothing but the epilogue and the alternate ending! Also- Good People won the poll! The first chapter should be up tonight or tomorrow, so keep a lookout! **

**Enjoy!**

**...**

"You sound terrible," Logan croaked hoarsely at James as his friend erupted into a fit of coughing.

"Like you're… one to talk," James retorted after he got it under control, adjusting the facemask over his mouth.

Logan sucked on an ice chip from the cup the nurse had given him and said, "I have an excuse."

"Well, so do I."

It was so weird watching Logan smirk and suck on his ice chips, as if he weren't comatose half an hour earlier with a tube down his throat helping him breathe. The color started to come back to his cheeks and his eyes were bright and alert, albeit tired looking.

James and Camille had been kicked out the moment the doctors got the message that he was awake. They spent a good fifteen minutes waiting for the doctors to get through taking the tube out and checking over Logan, seeing if he had any brain damage or lasting effects of the coma. When the doctor came out again, he shook his head at James.

"One of those miracle cases," he told him. "You guys are very lucky."

James finally _did _feel lucky—lucky that his best friend was alive and safe and going to get better. Two down, one to go.

"James."

"Huh?" James snapped out of his thoughts to find Logan staring at him, looking concerned.

"You alright?" Logan shook his head. "Other than the pneumonia, I mean."

"Fine," James said, although it was beginning to sound like an automatic response. He looked down, averting Logan's skeptical look as he fidgeted with the arms of his wheelchair. "Maybe not."

"What's wrong?" Logan prodded. He sat up, suddenly alarmed. "Is Carlos—?"

"He's fine," James assured him. "Just a dislocated shoulder, and a concussion."

"Kendall?"

James hesitated on that one. In the end he settled for, "I don't know," which was true, more or less. Logan seemed to sense that something else was up, but he didn't push it. He probably didn't want to know.

Logan sighed and closed his eyes slightly, only to start back and snap the open again.

"Are _you _alright?" James wanted to know. "I mean, you were in a _coma…"_

"I know," Logan said. "How cool is it that I can say I survived being comatose?"

James knew he was trying to change the subject, and he let him, chuckling. "I bet that's more than most doctors can say."

"You bet." Logan rubbed his arm where the needle pricked his skin. "Do the others know I'm awake? What about my parents?"

James shrugged. "No clue, dude. I know the airlines are beyond swamped with people both trying to get out of California and trying to get in. So far only Carlos' family made it to the hospital. My mom's driving," he offered, which made Logan smile because he knew how much James' mother hated doing anything by herself—especially driving.

Logan was quiet for a second. "What about everyone else at the Palm Woods?" he asked finally. "Camille? Tyler, Lucy, Mr. Bitters? The Jennifers?"

James sighed, which made his breath catch suddenly and spurred him into another coughing fit. Shaking his head once it was over, he said, "I think you and Kendall got the worst of it. One of the Jennifers was trapped behind a vending machine, but she wasn't injured. Mr. Bitters was out by the pool, Tyler was in the Palm Woods park running from his mother. I don't know where Lucy is, but as far as I know, everyone's fine."

Other than the fact that their home was destroyed. James decided not to tell Logan that.

Logan, though, had other things on his mind. He leaned forward intently. "Me and _Kendall?"_

When James didn't answer, Logan slammed his palms against the white sheets of his hospital bed. "Damn it, James, will you stop skirting around the bush? Kendall's my best friend too! What _happened?"_

"I don't know, okay?" James snapped. He blew out a frustrated breath, knowing he wasn't angry at Logan. "No one will tell me anything, but you already know how bad that is. They said he was trapped under a piece of ceiling, and—"

Logan sucked in air, interrupting him. "Kendall's a crush victim?"

James didn't know what that meant, but he didn't like the way Logan said it. "Why?" he demanded. "What's a crush victim?"

"A crush victim," Logan said, taking a deep breath, "is someone put into a situation when something heavy traps them, physically. It causes severe muscle damage, lacerations, infections… there's a high mortality rate with crush victims."

James didn't exactly want to hear more, but Logan went on as if on autopilot. "The tricky part about being crushed is the thing crushing you is the only thing keeping you from bleeding out. It cuts off the blood flow. But sometimes people die the minute they're set free, because they bleed out too fast, or they have other complications. Some victims develop anemia, and some victims die weeks after they are released from the hospital due to other things that weren't present when they were rescued."

He finally brought his gaze up to meet James'. "Kendall is a crush victim."

James wasn't interested in that. "How many people survive?"

"I'm not sure," Logan admitted. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his pillo0w. "I try to stay away from hopeless cases."

"It's not hopeless," James said. "There has to be a way, okay? Kendall will be fine."

He only hoped that were true.

A soft knock on the door drew their attention to Nurse Debbie standing in the hallway. She gave James and Logan a smile. "Camille's turn," she said.

James gave Logan a knowing look. "Just so you know, nothing went on between us when we were trapped in that pool."

"I know." And the way Logan said it—with complete and utter faith—made James smile and hold off the coughing fit just long enough for him to roll out the door and trade places with Camille.

Camille stopped him for a second, one hand on his arm. "Thank you for that," she said.

"No problem." James looked off down the hallway, spotting Carlos as he made his way towards him. "I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

Camille nodded, and James gripped the wheels of his wheelchair, not ready to face the stricken look on the Latino's face.

…

Logan looked up as Camille rolled herself into the room, stopped next to his bed, and folded her hands in her lap. She removed her mask and gazed up at him with large brown eyes, raking her gaze over his face like she'd never seen it before.

He didn't know what to say, so they sat in silence for a few minutes. Logan took the time to look over Camille. She didn't cough as much as James did, but her face was just as pale and her eyes told him she was beyond exhausted. She alternated between playing with the hem of the sheets on his bed and chewing her nails—a bad habit he told her to stop many times over. She'd never listened. Camille did what she wanted to, no matter what anyone said.

Unfortunately, Logan didn't possess the same ability. He'd always envied her because of that. It was one of the things that made her so free—she was absolutely fearless when it came to being herself.

That was why it was so unnerving, seeing her so nervous, on the verge of tears, at a loss for words. It just wasn't right.

Which then made Logan realize that he needed to talk first. It was the right thing to do, wasn't it? She didn't look like she could do it. And as much as Logan hated to admit it, she was still as beautiful as ever, sending spurts of fire through his gut every time her saw her flick her long eyelashes towards him, checking over his progress as if he were nothing but an illusion.

Logan's fingers twitched until he lifted his hand slightly and placed it on Camille's. She tensed only slightly and looked up at him, finally locking gazes with him.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey." She bit her lip. "Are you…"

"I'm fine," he assured her. "What about you? I heard this is your first time getting pneumonia."

The laugh she barked out sounded grating and painful. "I heard Carlos is the only one of us who hasn't now."

"Yeah, well." Logan moved his hand from her fingers to her face, cupping her cheek. "I was so scared I was never going to see you again," he said.

"Me too." Camille's eyes glistened. "When I heard you were in a coma, I thought…"

"I know," Logan sighed. "I was lucky. No lasting brain damage, no traces of the concussion I had, nothing."

Camille smiled. "A miracle."

Logan nodded and rubbed her cheek with his thumb, wiping the stray tear before it could reach her chin. "You're beautiful, you know that?"

She didn't say anything for a second. "You know," she said finally, "when I was trapped in that tiny little space in the pool… the only thing I could think of was getting out to find you." She looked down at her hands. "Even with James there, I just kept _wishing… _that you were the one trapped with me. And I know that sounds bad, but it really made me think."

Camille flashed him another one of her thousand watt smiles. "And it's funny how much you realize you love someone when you're in a life or death situation."

Ain't that true, Logan thought. And then he registered the rest of the sentence and looked down at her in surprise.

She smiled at him again. "You heard right. I love you, Logan. Always have."

A million thoughts shot through his head—the risks of saying it back, the pros and cons to having Camille as a girlfriend, what his friends and family would say, what the _world _would say… But he looked at Camille and her soft brown eyes and the words slipped out. "I love you, too."

And when she rested her head on his lap in the bed, he realized just how true that statement was.

…

"He's awake," James said again. "Carlos? Logan's awake."

He leaned over to his friend and tried to put a hand on Carlos' shoulder. The Latino had crumpled to his knees, his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. But when he finally lifted his head to look at James, a smile lit his face.

"That's it, then," he exclaimed. "Logan's awake. Kendall made it out of his surgery—"

"He did?" James' heart leapt into his throat. "Kendall's okay?"

Carlos scrubbed his eyes with his free arm as tears spilled over, nodding. "He got out ten minutes ago. God, when I saw you coming out of Logan's room…"

"They're fine." James leaned back into his wheelchair and sighed in disbelief. "We're… okay."

"No sign of infection," Carlos agreed. He ducked his head and whispered a prayer of thanks under his breath before standing again. "Come on. I want to see Logan."

"Camille's in there now," James told him.

Carlos raised an eyebrow at him, walking towards the room. The door was closed, and through the narrow window he could see Logan running his hands gently through Camille's hair as she rested her head in his lap. She was half leaning out of her wheelchair and her mask was off, but she didn't seem to care. Logan looked up at Carlos, giving him a faint, relieved smile.

James rolled up beside him and smirked as they watched Logan lean forward and kiss Camille on her head. "Guess this means they're back together."

"That we're all back together," Carlos said quietly. He looked down at James and a smile tugged at his lips—the barest hint that he was still there, the old Carlos they knew and loved. "Come on. We should go see Kendall."

"I'm all for that."

And with that, the two buddies left Logan and Camille alone and walked down the hallway, hearts swelling with the assurance that everything was going to be okay.


	15. Epilogue

***BAWLS PATHETICALLY* It's OVERRRRR! Well, sorta. Still gotta do the alternate ending, but that's more like a sequel anyways. :P Thank you SO MUCH for everyone who reviewed, favorited, tagged for alerts, and just flat out read this story! You are all the most amazing readers I've ever had. :) This one's for YOU!**

**Enjoy!**

**...**

Kendall knew what _delirious _meant the fifth or sixth time he woke, because he was pretty sure that's exactly what he was the other times he was conscious. There was nothing but white, fuzziness, and the soft purr of voices in his ear. And pain. A whole lot of pain.

When he finally woke for good, his eyes felt like they'd been crusted over and welded shut with a blow torch. It took an eternity just to try to pry them open, and by the time that happened he'd gathered enough information to assume two things. One, he was in the hospital—the incessant, constant beeping of the heart monitor and whirring of the ventilator told him that. The second was that he wasn't alone.

A hand wrapped around his fingers, soft and familiar, though he hadn't felt it in years. Kendall blinked into the darkness—the only light came from the setting sun through the window—and took stock of the long tube stuck in his throat. He could hear how his heart sped up in the monitor, the frantic beeping taking over the silence of the room.

He blinked, and Jo's face appeared above him. Her blonde hair was braided over one shoulder so it tickled his chest, her large brown eyes wide with a combination of worry and relief.

Her voice was muddled. He only caught a few words—_"Okay" _and _"Scared"—_neither of which made much sense. But she was here. How, he didn't know. It didn't matter. She was here.

Jo never left his sight the entire time the doctors took the tube out and gave him specific instructions to take tiny sips of water to ensure it would stay down. The pain had ebbed now to a dull thud, starting somewhere in his chest and abdomen and spreading from there. He also felt sick—his throat hurt and his head pounded, as if he had the flu. It wasn't a fun feeling.

"What happened?" he asked when he could talk again.

Jo brushed his hair back from his face, sighing heavily. "There was an earthquake. You got trapped underneath a piece of ceiling, and you almost didn't make it."

Kendall went to talk, but his voice caught in his throat. He couldn't remember any of it. It was nothing but a blur—which was cliché, much to Kendall's annoyance. But an _earthquake? _Here in Los Angeles? It seemed incomprehensible. And the fact that he'd "almost didn't make it." It was beyond bizarre thinking he could be dead right now.

Which reminded him… "What about…" He licked his dry lips. "Everybody else?"

Jo smiled reassuringly. "Your mom and Katie are fine, got off with scrapes and bruises and nothing else. James and Camille both got pneumonia. Carlos had a dislocated shoulder and Logan had a severe concussion, but he's fine now. As far as we know, nobody else at the Palm Woods was too badly hurt."

Kendall blinked. "How are you here? Aren't you supposed to be in New Zealand?"

She chuckled, which lit his heart on fire. "I came as soon as I heard," she said.

"How long have I been out?"

Jo sighed. "You've been in the hospital about five days. I don't know how long you were trapped under the ceiling. You developed an infection and… it was really bad. I was lucky—I got here after they stabilized you and were sure you were going to make a full recovery."

Kendall ran his fingers over Jo's and tried to wrap his brain around five days of lost time. He knew infections were bad—Logan raved about them all the time—and he knew how close he'd been to not ever coming back.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

"Me?" Jo blew out a breath, one that puffed her blonde bangs off of her forehead. She'd gotten them cut so they swept across her eyes, making her look older and much more out of Kendall's league. "I'm a bit torn," she admitted. "Had to pull the emergency card to get out of filming for the next week so I could come to see you. But now that I'm here, I don't want to go back."

Kendall brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them, thinking of how much he had longed to do that in the months after Jo left for New Zealand. "I missed you too."

Jo smiled at him and leaned down to press her lips to his forehead. "Katie's here," she said. "She's been waiting forever to talk to you, so I better go before visiting hours are over."

"Will you stay?" he asked as she got up to leave, holding onto her hand.

"I'm here for the week," she promised. And at Kendall's slightly disappointed look she added, "Maybe more."

Katie came in next. She looked so much smaller than she actually was from where Kendall lay—but that might've been the bed. Her hair was combed back into a ponytail so he could see her face, and he hated seeing the purple bruises fading to yellow on her cheeks.

She didn't do anything but climb up onto his bed and lay her head on his shoulder. Kendall suppressed a hiss as she bumped against his ribs, letting her relax against him and lay in the comfort of her big brother, alive and well—sort of—as he held her close.

And as she lay with him, Kendall found himself humming hoarsely her favorite lullaby until she drifted off to sleep.

…

_Three weeks later_

"Hurry, hurry, hurry!"

Carlos bounced in his seat impatiently, apparently not even noticing the twinge of pain that came from his shoulder. Logan grabbed his good one—just in case—to pull him back down to Earth. "Carlos, chill."

"We'll get there when we get there," Gustavo snapped from the other side of the limo.

"It takes too long," Carlos whined.

"You're just too impatient," Logan informed him.

Carlos crossed his arms and pouted, and Logan rolled his eyes. He knew why Carlos was so anxious—James, Kendall, and Katie rode with Mrs. Knight, and Carlos hated being last to anything. Especially this.

"Come on, come on, come on," Carlos muttered under his breath, bouncing his foot. From his face now, you never would've guess he'd gone through two weeks of depression, terror of the car and small spaces. It was one of the reasons Gustavo insisted they ride in his limousine with him and Kelly. It was also because he knew Carlos loved limos, and it would help take his mind off of things.

It'd been almost a month since the earthquake. Things were still bad, but not as bad as they had been. The reporters had moved on. It took a while, but they were finally left alone to heal and move on themselves.

Carlos had been the worst, Logan knew. James' pneumonia disappeared before Camille's. Kendall had awoken and, though he still had trouble breathing, was healing at a remarkable rate. Logan had the least damage save for a massive headache the first week.

But Carlos froze every time he neared an elevator. He took the stairs every time now, no matter how high the building was. For the first two weeks he refused to get into any car of any size and even now, here in this limo, he was bouncing around anxiously, making sure he had enough room. He was claustrophobic. Majorly.

To Logan it made sense. Carlos was a giant ball of energy that didn't like to be contained. Logan was out of it most of the time they'd been trapped in the elevator, but the look in Carlos' eyes wasn't one he was going to forget. It was terror. Something he'd never seen on his friend's russet face. Pure, undisguised terror.

It made Logan sick to his stomach just thinking about it.

Carlos whooped then, bringing Logan out of his thoughts. The limo was pulling into the parking lot, careful of the cracks in the road, and Carlos shot towards the door, throwing it open before the limo had come to a full stop.

"Finally!" he shouted.

Logan came out more cautiously and stared up at the Palm Woods, amazing it looked so well already. There were construction workers and volunteers littering the sidewalk and parking lot, most of them residents at the Palm Woods. Logan looked over and spotted James hefting a large beam for another worker, flashing him a thumbs up when they locked gazes.

A sadness settled over him. So much was gone in so little time.

A comforting hand landed on Logan's shoulder and he looked up at his mother—who'd driven hundreds of miles to see him—as she smiled down at him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Logan sighed. He mustered up a smile. "I guess we've got a lot of work to do."

"I don't know, Logie," Carlos said, appearing by his side and swinging his good arm over his shoulder, "a lot can happen when we work together."

Logan's smile spread—a real one now. "Then I guess we'd better get started."


End file.
